


break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored - newtmas

by ava_kay



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Ariana Grande inspired, M/M, Nightclub, newt is a playboy, newtmas - Freeform, rated r, thomas cheats with newt, thomas is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ava_kay/pseuds/ava_kay
Summary: Thomas is a few things. He’s a student of neurochemistry, a boyfriend to Teresa, a hardworker, a bad dancer, an awful decision maker, and an absolute monster.When he has a one night stand with the mysterious blonde he met in a nightclub after suspecting Teresa of cheating, Thomas feels awful, because it was a mistake... right?And if hooking up with resident playboy and totally unattainable Newt Ross was a mistake, why can’t he stop making it?aka a fic inspired by break up with your girlfriend i’m bored, in which thomas is a nerd with a cozy life and newt is a sarcastic jerk who’s non stop partying. but are they really happy the way they are?





	1. bad idea

Thomas looks over at Teresa, and as usual, she’s talking to Brenda. He sighs, knowing this means they'll be ignoring him for a while. They have a habit of disappearing off somewhere. Part of him thinks Brenda is into her. 

   He gets off the couch, and checks to see if Teresa looks at him. She doesn’t. So now, he’s faced with the annoyingly compacted crowd of people. Clubs are the freaking  _ worst. _

   As he makes his way to the bar, several people try to pull him in to dance, Thomas’ face permanently set in flinching mode. Have these people ever heard of personal space, or is that a foreign concept? 

   When he eventually makes it there, there’s an open bar stool, which is nothing short of a miracle. He sits down, finally able to breathe. Clubs smell weird, too. He can feel himself sweating from how warm it is, too many bodies packed in one place to make it a decent temperature, despite it being winter. 

   It takes him five minutes to get the bartender’s attention, and eventually, he’s able to shout his order to him. If he’s going to stay here for any longer, he can’t be sober. 

   When he gets his drink, he plans on taking it back to the couch, but behind him is a wall of people. He rolls his eyes, then takes a sip of the alcohol. It’s not likely that he’ll be missed much anyway. 

   One drink turns into two. Now, okay—Thomas isn’t a  _ lightweight. _ He’d never admit that, at least. But two drinks is fine. He’s only tipsy when he orders a third. 

   When he starts that one, he’s started losing just a little bit of his manners. His judgment is in place, but when he’s bumped into for the fifth time by some girl making out with a guy on the stool next to him, he finally feels the need to say something. 

   “Hey, excuse me?” Thomas asks loudly. Neither of the pair looks up. “Excuse me?” he tries again. 

   Finally, the guy pulls away to look at Thomas. “What?”

   Thomas nearly sighs. “If you could just mind your space while you dry hump in public, that’d be great. Thanks.”

   “What are you staring at us for?” he scoffs, looking pissed.

   “I wasn’t, but when your lovely girlfriend’s ass started hitting me in the arm, it got hard to ignore,” Thomas says. 

   The girl looks somewhat amused, if not a little embarrassed. But the guy isn’t having any of it. He starts sitting up, making the girl climb off of his lap. 

   “Now you’re talking about my girlfriend’s ass?” he asks. 

   “Oh fuck off, mate.” Thomas hears a new voice join the conversation. The guy gets up, facing the mysterious person who Thomas can't see from his vantage point. 

   Thomas taps the girl’s elbow while her boyfriend and the new guy talk quite angrily. He can tell from their tones, though he can’t make out their words. She looks down at Thomas. “Sorry,” Thomas says to her. Poor girl.

   “I’m used to it,” she says. Thomas pouts. Men suck sometimes.

   Then, when her boyfriend stumbles back into the crowd, Thomas has no sympathy for him. He does get a look at the other person now, though. This guy is wearing all black, and his blonde hair covers his eyes. But his jawline is sharp, and he’s actually got a  _ smile _ on his face.

   He’s taller than that girl’s boyfriend but lanky. Thomas stands up now. He wasn’t trying to get involved in a fight. The girl charges forward, grabbing her boyfriend by the arm and pulling him back. Thomas watches as her hand goes to his chest, her lips coming up to his ear. He huffs while he listens to her, his eyes trained on the guy that pushed him.

   The blonde, though, simply sits back down, this time next to Thomas. He doesn’t even glance at him, just looking forward and immediately gaining the attention of the bartender. Thomas is shocked, considering it took him a thousand years. 

   By now, the other guy and his girlfriend have left. Thomas debates sitting back down, but he should probably get going. He looks back at the blonde guy, and he seems relatively youthful in his features, but they’re also very much hardened, making him a living paradox. When he takes his glass from the bartender, Thomas watches his slender fingers curl around it. 

   Now he’s just staring. Thomas picks up his drink, then turns back and disappears in the crowd.

  
  
  
  


It’s about an hour and two drinks later when Thomas feels eyes on him. He’s with Teresa, and miraculously in on her current conversation with Brenda. Well, sorta. They listen when he speaks. His arm is around her, but he’s kinda regretting the decision to do that because of how warm he already is.

   He turns his head, looking around. Initially, he doesn’t see anyone by him that seems to care about his existence, but when he turns around, he finally figures out where the feeling came from.

   It’s the guy from the bar. His eyes are trained on Thomas, and it sends chills down his spine. Another guy has his hands on him, but he doesn’t seem to care very much, which is almost amusing to Thomas. Well, it would be if he wasn’t  _ still _ looking at him. Thomas isn’t sure if he’s imagining it from the drinks or not, but he could swear the blonde is smirking. 

   Thomas looks away, turning back to Teresa. But the sight of that guy is burned into his eyes by now. He tries to refocus himself, his brain still clearing up. Is Brenda’s hand on Teresa’s leg? Thomas frowns a little, but Teresa hasn't stopped leaning into Thomas, so it should be fine. He thinks.

  
  
  
  


Almost another hour goes by, and Thomas wants to leave, but Brenda and Teresa want to stay. Brenda offers to call Thomas a cab so that they can just leave separately, and Thomas is kinda considering it when he gets up to go into the bathroom. He doesn’t actually have to go; he just needs to be somewhere other than that room. 

   It doesn’t hit him that he’s a bit beyond tipsy until he finds himself stumbling through the crowd. Where the hell did the bathroom go? He’s clear enough to think straight, but he also finds it hilarious that he can’t even locate the bathroom.

   Suddenly, there’s a hand on Thomas’ arm. He doesn’t think much of it, because he’s had people randomly grab at him a few times at this kind of place. Usually a mistake, or just someone that wants to dance. Except this person doesn’t let go when Thomas tries to keep walking.

   When Thomas turns around with a frown, he's met with a grin.

   “I’m Newt.” It’s the blonde from before. His eyes are large up close. Not in a weird way, though. They’re quite nice, actually. 

   “Thomas,” Thomas replies, half nodding. He’s bumped into from behind, and he stops short of collapsing into Newt.  _ Very _ short. Like, faces an inch apart short. 

   “You good?” Newt asks, amused. His eyes flick from Thomas’ own, down to his lips. When they regain their eye contact, Thomas feels his heart hammering in his chest.

   Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so drunk. In fact, his senses heighten. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” 

   “Don’t seem to be enjoying yourself,” Newt says. He talks as if there’s not deafening music playing overhead, so Thomas has to move even  _ closer _ to hear. Plus, he has to stare at his lips to make out the words. He smells like whiskey and smoke.

   “I-I was thinking about leaving,” Thomas says, feeling weird now for almost shouting. 

   “Huh,” Newt says, raising his eyebrows. “If you just need air, I know a place.” 

   Thomas tries to think that through logically. “You could kill me.” 

   Newt chuckles. “Do you think I will?” he asks. 

   Thomas looks him over. It doesn’t do much on the will-he-kill-me front, but he continues to anyway. Then, once he realizes how weird that is, he looks back up at his face. “No.” 

   “Follow me, then,” Newt says, nodding his head to the side. 

   Thomas does as he’s told, while his brain is basically just one gigantic question mark. This is weird, right? It should be. Maybe it’s not. 

   Newt gets to a door with a bouncer in front of it, and the bouncer just opens it for them without a word. He waves Thomas in with him, and Thomas is confused but goes with it anyway.

   It’s a dark hallway that he’s led into, but he can still see Newt in front of him. Honestly, he’s just glad it’s not packed in here. Also, the music is kinda muffled sounding. That’s a win to Thomas.

   They wind up in a lounge type thing, which is another room with people, but they’re a bit more chill. Some are dancing, and some are sitting. It’s like something out of a movie, all dark and intimidating. But the overall vibe is nicer. Classier, too. 

   There’s a window over to the side that shows the street behind a curtain of beads. Thomas is looking at the lights outside when Newt nudges him. 

   “C’mon,” he says. Thomas blindly follows him to the dance floor, which is when he starts to regret this all. He hates dancing. Teresa loves it, though. “You look awkward, Thomas.” 

   “I don’t dance,” Thomas says, shaking his head.

   “Sure you do,” Newt says. Thomas shakes his head yet again. “You’ve never danced with anyone before?”

   “I don’t know how,” Thomas says. 

   Newt laughs, then takes Thomas by the arm again, leading them deeper into the smaller and tamer crowd. Nobody grabs at Thomas this time, which is already a good start.

   Thomas is thinking about completely bailing when he suddenly loses track of Newt. He was in front of him a moment ago, right? He’s not drunk enough to have imagined a whole person, so what happened? 

   He feels a fire ignite in his stomach when hands appear on Thomas’ midsection. They press into him just hard enough for Thomas to feel them through his clothes. 

   “Look around,” a voice that unmistakably belongs to Newt speaks close to his ear. His breath is warm on Thomas’ neck, and it sends jolts of something into his body.  _ Holy shit. _ “See them all? It’s not that hard.” 

   “They’re drunk,” Thomas notes. Everyone dancing seems drunk off their asses—they’ve also got someone with them. 

   “You’re not?” Newt asks with a laugh, circling to be in front of him now. Thomas almost shudders. 

   “No,” Thomas says with a pout. 

   “Good,” Newt says. Thomas furrows his eyebrows at the same time as Newt looks behind his shoulder. His face drops. “Shit.” 

   “What?” Thomas asks, turning his head to look too. Then, before he can see, he’s looking back at Newt. Because now, their bodies press together. 

   Thomas’ breath is taken away when Newt leans back in, his lips touching Thomas’ ear this time as he feels hands on his lower back now. “Go with this for a minute? Please?” 

   For some reason he doesn’t understand, Thomas nods. This is okay, right? Teresa dances with random people all the time. Plus, he’s only helping this guy out. 

   Dancing, as it turns out, isn’t that hard. You just kinda move, and nobody cares because it's dark and most of them have forgotten their own names. The thing that gets Thomas, though, is Newt’s hands on him. He’s hyper-aware of them, and he doesn’t know why. This guy is touchy; he knows that much. 

   Eventually, Thomas forgets why they started dancing in the first place. He’s put most other things out of his mind. He’s even smiling. That is until he comes into view of the window again. 

   Outside, he sees two girls on the sidewalk. Because of their positioning, he doesn’t really recognize them at first. Then, he looks closer. There’s a girl with her arm wrapped around the other, her hand unmistakably placed on the other’s ass. Before they stumble out of view, Thomas catches their hair colors, just to make sure. Black and brown. 

   He spends the next five or so minutes with the image at the forefront of his mind. Is that just… it? Teresa is just fooling around with Brenda, cheating on Thomas? She’s been busy lately. Could that be why? 

   Newt is once again behind Thomas now, and he’s taller so his chin can rest on Thomas’ shoulder easily. He does just that. Now, Thomas is back in the moment when Newt’s hands are snaking around his waist. 

   Thomas puts zero thought into putting his hands on top of Newt’s. The song on seems to swell in Thomas’ mind, and he’s got so much going on in his head that it cancels out and there’s nothing at all. Thinking isn’t in his best interest. 

   It’s only when Newt’s lips connect with Thomas’ neck that red flags seem to go off for him. Every little spot of exposed skin the blonde touches gives Thomas new tingling sensations. Jesus, he’s never felt anything like this before. His head involuntarily rolls to the side to let Newt continue, and he could swear he feels him smirk against him. 

_ What am I doing? _ The thought is interrupted when Newt’s hands slide lower on Thomas’ body.  _ This is wrong. _ Newt is dangerously low. Thomas only now notices that he’s stopped moving, almost frozen in place. 

   Newt’s now by Thomas’ ear again. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” he asks, his voice dripping with fake innocence. 

_ Fuck. _ “I-I don’t—”

   “Should I stop?” Newt asks lowly. Thomas just now realizes how deep the blonde’s voice can go. His eyes flutter shut. Newt’s hands seem to slowly be inching across Thomas’ stomach, giving him chills. 

   Then, he remembers Teresa and Brenda outside. Before he can think of it too deeply, Newt distracts him by hooking one of his fingers in the belt loop of Thomas’ jeans—which are now extremely uncomfortable.

   “No,” Thomas finally sputters out.

   Newt presses up closer against Thomas as he speaks the word, and Thomas loses feeling in his legs when he feels  _ all _ of him. “Great,” Newt says. He holds Thomas like that until he uses his new grip on him to turn him around to face him, keeping his hand on Thomas’ hip.

   Thomas’ hands instinctively come up to Newt’s chest when he dips back down to Thomas’ neck. Then, when Newt’s hand comes up under Thomas’ shirt, Thomas’ arms wind up around Newt’s neck. 

   His fingers are warm on Thomas’ stomach, but they have the same stark effect as ice to him as they slide around to his back. Thomas looks at Newt’s face when he pulls back from his neck. He’s hot as hell. His hair is messy, and his eyes almost look black right now. When Thomas looks at Newt’s lips, they’re parted and noticeably pink even with the bad lighting. 

   With his judgment officially going out the window, Thomas kisses Newt hard. He’s rushed and needy at first, but Newt responds in a way that slows him down. Oddly enough, his lips taste sweet to Thomas. Sweet enough to keep him in his trance as he continues making out with the guy he met an hour ago. 

   Thomas starts realizing what he’s doing when Newt’s hand slides into his back pocket. He gasps against Newt’s mouth, pulling back a little. Thomas is kissing this guy. Two hours ago, he was here with his girlfriend. 

   “Everything okay?” Newt asks, slightly out of breath. 

_ His girlfriend that went home with Brenda. _

   “Everything’s fine,” Thomas says, before both of them lean in again at the same time, Newt kissing him more aggressively now.

   The room is spinning, and Thomas feels like he’s floating in water. He melts into Newt because he wants to forget. Forget about what he saw, and forget what he’s doing. No turning back now. 

   Newt pulls away. “Hold on,” he says. He brings his hand back around, then takes Thomas’ hand in his. 

   Without another word, he guides Thomas away from the floor. Thomas is dazed, following on his heels. He doesn’t like the seconds where they’re separated—no hands touching him, no lips on his neck. There’s too many of them. He distracts himself with the scenery until he’s entering through yet another door. This time, it leads to a staircase.

   “Think you can make it up those?” Newt asks, his voice normal volume and his accent thick. The music is still audible, but way quieter now.

   Thomas walks ahead of him like his words were a challenge, making it up the steps without a problem. He could quite literally be going anywhere. Maybe he should ask. 

   When he gets to the top, there are two doors. Newt stops in front of the one on the right, then takes out a key and unlocks it. 

   “Wh-where are we?” Thomas asks. 

   “My best friend owns this place,” is the only explanation Newt gives before opening the door and pulling Thomas in with him. 

   He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, merely dragging Thomas along until they’ve reached a room dimly lit by a lamp. Thomas’ heart nearly stops. That’s a fucking  _ bed. _

   Newt’s hands are on him again, spinning him around in a way that makes Thomas sit back on the bed. Now, looking at Newt above him as he takes off his jacket, revealing toned arms, his worries are gone again. 

   In fact, for a couple of hours, they stay gone. 


	2. side to side

Thomas is sore. Like, his whole body. In fact, nothing seems right, and he’s utterly confused in his first few moments of consciousness. It’s dark in the room he’s in, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

   Then, with a headache, the night comes back to him. Thomas sits up quickly, feeling his chest. He’s shirtless. Actually, he doesn’t have  _ anything _ on, now that he’s paying attention. 

   “Fuck,” Thomas says, squeezing his eyes shut and running a hand through his hair. He tries to breathe for a few moments. There’s no longer any music playing, so the club is probably closed now. He’s got no clue what time it is, but it’s pitch black out. 

   He jumps when there’s movement next to him, his heart leaping into his throat. Suddenly, the lamp turns back on. He’s not even sure when it was turned off. 

   Newt squints at him sleepily, his hair matted to his forehead and his entire chest exposed. “Hi,” he says groggily, his voice deep. 

   “I can’t believe this,” Thomas says, his own voice hoarse.  _ He knows why. _

   Newt sits up lazily. “Are you alright?” 

   “No, I’m not,” Thomas says, shaking his head. “I have a girlfriend.” 

   Newt frowns. “Didn’t seem like that a few hours ago.” 

   Thomas feels like the biggest asshole of the century. It’s one thing to see Brenda and Teresa being touchy, but it’s an entirely different thing to literally sleep with someone. “I’m horrible.” 

   “I actually thought you were quite good,” Newt says. Thomas glares at him while he smiles at his own joke.

   “This isn’t funny, we’ve been together for a year,” Thomas says. He needs to get dressed and get as far as he possibly can. “I gotta go. I’m sorry.” 

   Thomas looks around the bed, but he only finds Newt’s shirt. Looking down, his stuff is on the floor. He groans. 

   “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll look away while you get dressed if you let me drive you home,” Newt says. 

   Thomas hesitates. “Why?” 

   “Just to be safe. You drank more than I did, I only had one hours ago,” Newt says, rubbing his eyes. Thomas looks down a little and sees a hickey on his neck that definitely wasn’t there when they were dancing before.

   But something Newt said gives him the slightest bit of relief. “I was drunk,” Thomas breathes out. “I drank too much, that’s it.” 

   “Not drunk,” Newt says. Thomas looks at him confusedly, so Newt continues. “I watched you. When I asked if you were, you said no. You climbed the stairs with no problem. Trust me, I know drunk when I see it. I wouldn’t have fu—” Thomas gives him a look, so Newt cuts himself off. “I wouldn’t have done anything if I didn’t think you were sober enough.” 

   Thomas hates how nice of a gesture that was. “You don’t know me,” Thomas says. Thinking back, he’s right. He was a bit fuzzy, sure, but definitely not what he’d call drunk. Screw Newt for taking away his only excuse.

   Newt raises his eyebrows. “Whatever, Tommy. So are you gonna let me drive you or not? I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night but… I don’t think you’re in the mood.” 

   Thomas sighs. He doesn’t have his own car here, but Newt doesn’t know that. “You can drive me,” he finally says. “Thank you.” 

   Newt proceeds to cover his eyes with his hands. “No problem.” 

   Thomas gets up and grabs his clothes, putting everything on while stealing glances at Newt. In his mind, flashes of the night come back with a wave of shame. 

   When he’s finished getting dressed, he sits on the bed and Newt uncovers his eyes. “Mind if I get dressed?” 

   “Oh, no,” Thomas says, looking down at his hands. 

   “I don’t mind if you look,” Newt says with a smirk before he turns, his back to Thomas. Thomas catches himself looking down the slope of his back, and despite the dimly lit room, he can still see scratches. 

_ I’m so screwed. _

  
  
  
  


Twenty minutes later, they get inside of Newt’s car, and Newt starts it after putting Thomas’ address in his GPS. He gave Thomas one of his jackets just to get home in since Thomas left his inside the actual club which is now locked, and Thomas wraps it tighter around himself. 

   Thomas winces, shifting in his seat. Newt snorts. “Sorry,” he says unapologetically. 

   “Shut up,” Thomas says. Muscles he didn’t even know he  _ had _ are hurting. He hasn’t been with a guy for probably two years, but this was different in a way he couldn’t explain. He’d be an even bigger jerk if he said better because he’s a cheater and an awful person. 

   “Oh, come on. Loosen up,” Newt says, beginning to drive. 

   “I’ll jump out of the car,” Thomas threatens, only contributing to Newt’s laughter. 

   “Look, Tommy, if you believe this was a mistake then just… don’t tell her,” Newt says casually as if this is obvious advice. 

   “How do I just not tell her?” Thomas asks, baffled that he’d even suggest it. 

   “It’s simple. Just don’t say the words ‘I fucked some guy at the club,’ and then I think you’re good to go,” Newt says, making Thomas flinch. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

   “What kind of asshole advice is that?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt shrugs. “Fine. Try it your way, then. No skin off my back,” he says. “Actually—”

   “Don’t even freaking try it,” Thomas warns, cutting him off before he could go through with his joke. 

   The roads are totally dead, seeing as it’s four o’clock in the morning, so Thomas doesn’t see this car ride lasting long. But he figures he doesn’t want to make it completely awkward.

   “Uh,” he starts. “How old are you?”

   “What?” Newt asks. 

   “How old are you?” Thomas asks again.

   “I’m twenty-three,” Newt says, somewhat suspiciously. “Why? How old are  _ you?” _

   “Oh, I’m twenty-two, don’t worry,” Thomas says. “Just… making small talk, I guess.” This is failing miserably. 

   “Oh,” Newt says, still looking confused. 

   “I’m guessing you do this often, then,” Thomas says, a strange disappointment in his tone. Why would he care? This was a one night stand on both ends, so what does this matter? 

   “Yeah,” Newt says, not sounding ashamed, but not necessarily proud of it either. Like it’s just a typical fact, and Thomas asked if he likes dogs or not. 

   “Ah,” Thomas says, nodding slowly. A few moments of silence pass. “Thanks for getting rid of that guy tonight, by the way.” 

   Newt takes a second, then nods. “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. I heard what you said to him, it made me laugh.” 

   Thomas searches back through his memory of the night. He saw Newt at the bar first, then later behind him while he was sitting with Teresa. 

   “Hold on,” Thomas suddenly says. “You saw me with Teresa.” 

   “Did I?” Newt asks.

   “Uh, yeah, you did. While I was sitting on the couch. I was right next to her,” Thomas says.  

   “How was I supposed to know you were dating? You look more like siblings to me, to be honest,” Newt says. 

   Thomas shakes his head in exasperation, looking out the window. “Fuck you, dude,” Thomas says. First, he acts like cheating isn’t a big deal, then he says that Thomas and his girlfriend look like siblings? 

   When he does glance at Newt, he doesn’t seem to be bothered. Thomas guesses this is just another occurrence for him. He’s just another face Newt will forget about tomorrow. 

   But, honestly, Thomas feels like a way worse person. At least Newt isn’t cheating on anyone. Thomas really has no right to judge him. They both knew what this was. 

   The rest of the ride is silent, and Thomas spends the whole thing feeling miserable. He hopes desperately that Teresa isn’t at his place. Honestly, at this point, he’d be glad to find out she slept with Brenda. 

   When they get to Thomas’ building, Thomas awkwardly tells Newt where to park. Then, he starts to take off Newt’s jacket. 

   “It’s cold out, keep it. If you ever feel like getting your other one back, just stop by the club and leave mine there. I’ll put yours by coat-check,” Newt says. 

   Dammit, why does he have to be nice? “Are you sure?”

   “Positive,” Newt says, unlocking his doors. He looks back at Thomas, giving him a once-over. “Good luck.” 

   Thomas nods at the vaguely menacing statement. “Thanks.” He’s gonna need it. 

   Then, he gets out of the car, closing the door before watching Newt drive away, not so much as glancing back at Thomas. 

   When Thomas gets to his small apartment, he’s relieved to see no evidence of Teresa there. He’d shower, but he’s too exhausted. So he immediately walks into his room, strips down, and gets into bed, hoping to wake up in the morning and discover that this was all just some awful dream. 

  
  
  
  


This is not some awful dream. This is his life, and now Thomas actually has to deal with it. He rolls over in bed, wishing he could just hide there forever. Like it or not, he has to face Teresa today. 

   Thomas grabs his phone, and he doesn’t have any missed calls or texts. Teresa probably just assumed he’d gotten a cab home. He texts her telling her they should talk, then turns his phone off again. 

   After five minutes of hitting his pillow against his forehead, Thomas gets up, then regrets his decision immediately. How is he in  _ worse _ pain now? He gets into the shower and makes the water as hot as he can handle it. It just barely soothes him, and it does even less to wash away his regret. 

   He can still feel Newt’s hands on him. Thomas knows he wasn’t drunk, even if he wanted to use it as an excuse at the time. If he thinks back, he was very much aware of every little thing that was happening. 

   Once he dries off and gets dressed, he’s less sore, but he’s exhausted. He stands in front of his phone for a whole minute before he turns it on, seeing a text from Teresa. She said that it’s a good idea. He responds telling her he’ll come over. 

   “Why? Why would I say that?” Thomas asks himself out loud, throwing his phone on the bed. He watches it light up with a new text, telling him he can come over now. 

   Thomas grabs his keys, then picks his phone back up yet again, trying to think of what to say. He’s got  _ nothing, _ besides maybe admitting he’s trash. There’s no right thing to say in this situation. 

   When he goes to put on a jacket, he sees that the only one he now has is Newt’s. Thomas puts it on, and it smells like him. He’ll just take it off before he goes into Teresa’s. It’d be a whole other level of awful to walk in wearing it. He only has to hope the smell doesn’t rub off on him. 

  
  
  
  


Teresa answers the door looking just as awkward as Thomas does. She steps aside, letting him in, and Thomas can’t even meet her eyes. 

   They go into Teresa’s small living room, sitting on her sofa. All Thomas can see is flashes from last night. Brenda and Teresa on the couch. Him and Newt dancing. Brenda’s hands on Teresa. Pulling Newt closer to him. 

   “Tom…” Teresa trails off. “Something—something happened.” 

   “Yeah,” Thomas says. Then, he realizes  _ she’s _ speaking. “Wait, what happened?”

   Teresa plays with her hands. “I am so sorry,” she says. She almost sounds like she’s going to cry. “Last night… Brenda was really drunk. She started touching me more and more, and I didn’t stop her, and then—”

   She definitely sounds like she’s going to cry now. “Teresa—”

   “Brenda kissed me,” Teresa blurts out. 

   “That’s it?” Thomas asks immediately. 

   Teresa looks at him incredulously. “That’s  _ it? _ She  _ kissed _ me.” 

   “Did it go further?” Thomas asks. 

   “No,” Teresa says, shaking her head. “It didn’t mean anything, I swear Tom. I’ve felt awful. If you can’t forgive me, I understand.” 

   Thomas just thinks. She messed up. Not as bad, but she messed up.  

   “I do forgive you,” Thomas says. Teresa looks so relieved, he wants to punch his own face. 

   “What did you want to say?” Teresa asks. 

   Thomas considers Newt’s advice. Just not telling her. It’s not like he’ll do it again, plus he thought Teresa was cheating on him. Right? 

   “I saw you and Brenda outside, and… I did something horrible,” Thomas says, the words tumbling out of him before he can listen to the blonde devil on his shoulder. 

  They don’t speak for a few moments. Teresa looks at a loss, but she has no idea yet. None at all. “What did you do?” she asks. 

   How can Thomas even say this? “There was this guy,” he starts. Teresa’s expression doesn’t change.  _ I was drunk. _ The words are on the tip of Thomas’ tongue, yet he can’t bring himself to say them. “I was upset, and I wasn’t—” 

   “Just tell me,” Teresa says. 

   “I slept with him.” 

   Thomas’ heart is pounding as they sit there. Why isn’t she responding? He’s never wanted to disappear more in his life. 

   “You slept with someone because you saw Brenda and me?” Teresa asks eventually. “Where?” 

   “Outside,” Thomas says, feeling incredibly stupid.

   “What did you see?” she asks.

   “I saw her… hand on you,” Thomas says.  _ I am the biggest idiot in the world. _

   “You saw Brenda put her hand on me, so you slept with someone?” Teresa asks. Thomas opens his mouth to respond but realizes excuses aren’t the way to go here. “Thomas, sleeping someone and someone kissing you are very different things.” 

   “I-I know,” Thomas says. 

   Teresa has tears in her eyes, but more than anything, she looks mad. Hurt. “I’ve been sick all night about Brenda kissing me, and you slept with someone.” 

   “Teresa, I’m so sorr—”

   “What were you thinking?” Teresa asks, a tear falling.

   Thomas is too guilty to cry. He has nothing to cry  _ about. _ “I thought you were cheating on me with Brenda,” Thomas says quietly. 

   “From that one thing?” Teresa asks. She’s definitely angry, but she should be. 

   “You’re always going off with her,” Thomas says, while his brain shouts at him asking why on earth he’d try to defend himself. “I’m practically the third wheel, I thought that was it.” 

   “So instead of asking, you cheated on me,” Teresa says. 

   There’s nothing Thomas can say anymore. “I’m sorry.” 

   Teresa gets up. “I think you should go,” she says. 

   Thomas gets up too. “Teresa, can we just talk—”

   “No, Thomas,” Teresa cuts him off. “Just… no.” 

   “Is this it, then?” Thomas asks, now feeling tears well up. He doesn’t have the right to cry. 

   Teresa just looks at him, tears falling. He’s never seen her look so cold. “Go, Thomas.” 

   There’s nothing else he can do but listen. 

  
  
  
  


Thomas barely even remembers driving here. He bunches up the stupid jacket, not putting it on despite the cold. He just needs to get rid of it and get his other one back. 

   Nobody is here right now, because it’s only five, but the club is technically open. Thomas slams his car door, walking up to the front door. His eyes sting, and his head still hurts. 

   When he walks in, he goes to the coat-check, but nobody is there. He rolls his eyes, then continues on deeper into the club. This place looks a lot different when it doesn’t have a thousand people in it.

   “Can I help you?” 

   Thomas turns around and sees a bouncer eyeing him. 

   He holds up the jacket. “I’m here to return something—and get something back. I left my jacket here.” 

   “Did you check coat-check?” he asks. 

   Thomas sighs. “Nobody was there.” 

   “Tommy?” Thomas doesn’t want to turn around. “He’s a friend of mine, Jorge. I’ve got it.” 

   The bouncer—Jorge, apparently—just returns to where he was previously standing. Thomas grips the jacket tighter before turning. 

   Newt is standing by the door that leads to the other section of the club, wearing no shirt whatsoever. His jeans ride low on his hips, and he cocks his head to the side. “You’re here,” he states.

   “Where’s my jacket?” Thomas asks coldly. 

   Newt raises his eyebrows at Thomas’ tone. “I wasn’t expecting you yet, so it’s in my room.” 

   Thomas really doesn’t want to follow Newt there, but when he turns and walks back in from where he came without another word, he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter. 

   He walks down the hallway, watching Newt in front of him. How is he walking around shirtless when it’s so cold? 

   “How’d you know I was here?” Thomas suddenly asks. He’s not sure why, since he’s not in the mood to talk. 

   They’re in the lounge area now, and Newt points towards the window. “I was cleaning up in here, then I heard a car and wondered what loser would show up at a club at five in the afternoon.” 

   Thomas doesn’t respond as they keep walking. They make it to the door leading to the staircase, and as he climbs the stairs, Thomas wonders why he didn’t think this was sketchy last night. Or unsanitary, for that matter. 

   When Newt opens the door, and the two of them walk in, Thomas is barely paying attention. All he can think about is how much he hates himself. He threw away a year of dating for no reason. 

   Newt turns and holds out his hand. Thomas just looks at it. “My jacket?” 

   “Oh,” Thomas says, giving it back. 

   Newt takes it, then looks Thomas over. “You look like shit.” 

   “Thanks,” Thomas says flatly. “I ruined my own life so that probably had something to do with it.” 

   “That bad, then?” Newt asks, turning from Thomas and looking around. The marks on his back and neck are still very much evident, and he’s just walking around like that? 

   “What the fuck did you expect?” Thomas asks. 

   “I could ask you the same question,” Newt says. There’s a couch, table, and TV in the room they’re in, and Newt’s looking on the couch now. 

   “I wasn’t thinking,” Thomas says more quietly. 

   Newt finally finds Thomas’ jacket, walking back over and standing directly in front of him. “I think you were.” 

   “What’re you talking about?” Thomas asks. Newt shouldn’t test him right now. 

   “You didn’t seem all that worried about her when you were begging for me last night,” Newt says. 

   Thomas goes red. “I thought she was cheating on me.” 

   “You were really ready to believe it, weren’t you?” Newt asks, his eyes on Thomas’ lips.  

   Something like anger shoots through Thomas. Except it’s not all anger towards Newt. No, he’s mad at himself. More than anything, he wants to stop feeling this guilt. 

   “You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” Thomas says, stepping even closer to Newt. 

   “So I’ve been told,” Newt says. Nothing seems to phase him, and that bothers Thomas. He’s almost envious in a way. Newt’s got a new look in his eye now. Something that reaches Thomas’ core. “What’re you here for, Tommy?” 

   The pair look at each other for one moment. Then the next moment, Thomas’ jacket is on the floor, and Thomas’ hands are in Newt’s hair, pulling him closer as they kiss. It’s rough; more like clashing than anything else. 

   Newt backs Thomas up into the wall, and Thomas feels up Newt’s chest. He wonders if Newt can hear his heart pounding. Whatever part of him thinking this is a mistake is immediately drowned out as Newt leaves a trail of hard kisses down Thomas’ jaw to his neck. Thomas’ eyes nearly roll back into his head. This is gonna leave a mark. 

   His hands reach down and start fumbling with the button of Newt’s jeans, and Newt pulls back. His lips are now red, his eyes dark. 

   Newt takes Thomas’ hand away and leads him back into his room. Thomas’ shirt is coming off before he can even get on the bed, and while he does that, Newt’s slipping out of his jeans.  

   When Newt finally has Thomas on the bed, his mind has shut off. All he feels and sees is Newt. His smirks when Thomas is responsive, the muscles in his arms flexing, his fingers trailing down Thomas to make him shudder. And it feels  _ good. _

  
  
  
  


Thomas and Newt are breathing heavily, both lying on their backs beside each other. Honestly, Thomas hates this. Too much silence. Too little moving. He knows that one of these seconds, his brain will start working again. 

   “How did you know I was into guys?” Thomas suddenly asks, staring at the ceiling. 

   “You didn’t punch me,” Newt says. 

   Thomas turns his head to him. Their faces are inches apart, and they’re both sweating, but Newt just looks like he’s almost glowing somehow. “Does that happen a lot?” 

   “More often than you’d think. I usually have a good radar, though,” Newt says, turning to look at Thomas now too. 

   “Are you into girls too?” Thomas asks, just for the sake of asking.

   “Not even... at all,” Newt responds with a quick smile. 

   “And your best friend owns this place?”

   “Yeah. Minho. However, he’s out of town, so I’m looking after it for him.”  

   “And… this is his bed?” Thomas asks, now extremely conscious of it. 

   “Not exactly. This little apartment just happens to be here, but Minho’s got his own place. He just uses this one when he’s too drunk to get home,” Newt says. 

   It strikes Thomas that he’s got no idea how many people have had sex in this bed, and now he feels disgusting. “I know we were safe and all, but when was the last time you were tested?” 

   Newt laughs. “About a month ago. All good, no worries. Very responsible of you, though.” 

   Thomas isn’t very good at this whole talking-after thing. Usually, he and Teresa would just talk about their days or whatever if they didn’t fall asleep.  _ Teresa. _

   “What do you do for a living?” Thomas blurts out. 

   “I’m a poet,” Newt says. 

   “Really?”

   “No, I sell motorcycles. I’m flattered you believed me, though,” Newt says. Then he pauses. “Nobody ever really asks me things.” 

   “Why not?” Thomas asks. 

   “Nobody ever cares,” Newt says. He sounds like it meant to come out funny, but it falls flat. Then, he looks back up at the ceiling. “What do you do?” 

   “I’m, uh, part-time as an assistant at a lab. Still going to school, though. I’m studying neurochemistry,” Thomas says awkwardly. That was an overshare. 

   “Seriously? You’re a bloody scientist?” Newt asks, fully turning to Thomas this time, body and all. 

   “Well, not really. Not yet,” Thomas says, facing him too. 

   “Close enough. You’re smart, then? I failed three different math classes,” Newt says. 

   “That doesn’t mean you’re stupid,” Thomas says. 

   Newt looks around. “My actual apartment is the same size as this place. Look at my life, Tommy. Smart people do a little better than this.” 

   Thomas frowns at him. “Being smart doesn’t really matter. Are you happy?” 

   Newt hesitates like the question threw him off guard. His eyes search Thomas’ face before looks down at the bed. “Of course I’m happy,” he says, his smile returning when he laughs. “I like my life, small apartment and all.” 

   “I wish I could be so… unbothered,” Thomas says seriously. “Right now, I don’t want to feel anything at all.” 

   “I figured that’s why you came,” Newt says with a nod. 

   Thomas suddenly feels bad. “I-I came for my jacket, I didn’t mean—”

   “You’re right, you really do have to learn how to calm down,” Newt says, cutting him off. “Hope I helped, at least.” 

   “Yeah,” Thomas says, his mood now even duller. 

   “You had fun, right?” Newt asks. Thomas frowns, then nods, because… he’s not going to lie. “See? No guilt. Just a good time.” 

   How does Newt not get that Thomas  _ still _ feels guilty? “Have you ever been in a relationship before? A serious, long-term relationship?” 

   “Yeah, I guess. Why?” Newt asks. 

   “Then you should know that it’s not as easy as just lying and forgetting. You don’t just get over things, you care about the other person deeply. You’re supposed to always want more for them and more  _ of _ them,” Thomas says.

   Newt goes quiet. “Why are you telling me this?” 

   “Because you keep acting like what I did wasn’t a big deal after I dated Teresa for a year,” Thomas says. “I look like shit because I feel like shit.” 

   “Listen, mate, I thought you were using me to make yourself feel better. Pick one,” Newt says, sitting up. 

   Thomas sits up too after a moment. “I didn’t—” he starts, before exhaling. “I know. Sorry.”

   He feels like a total idiot. This guy just wanted to hook up with him. Just sex, nothing else, yet here Thomas is, spilling his problems and life story. Newt couldn’t care less about him.

   Thomas doesn’t give Newt a chance to answer before he’s getting up, looking for his clothes.  

   “What’re you doing?” Newt asks. 

   “Going,” Thomas says, as he pulls up his boxers. He’s got no room left for embarrassment in his brain, so he doesn’t care that he feels Newt’s eyes on him. 

   “Why?” Newt asks.

   “You don’t really care,” Thomas says, getting his jeans on. “You  _ shouldn’t _ care, you have no reason to.” 

   “Are you alright to drive?” Newt asks. Thomas makes sure he has his phone and keys, before putting his shirt on, followed by his shoes. Newt is still in bed, very much unclothed. 

   “I’m fine. Sorry for bothering you,” Thomas says, not even checking Newt’s reaction before leaving the room. 

   He has to get his jacket from the floor, and while he’s getting it on, he hears a voice behind him. 

   “Why would you say that?” 

   Newt’s standing in the doorway, only wearing boxers now. Thomas catches himself looking at Newt’s body, his abs prominent as he leans against the frame of the door. Then, he snaps back into reality. 

   “I’m just a hookup, and I’m here telling you about my own relationship problems that  _ I _ caused. Even saying this now is making it worse, so I’m just going to go,” Thomas says, stepping towards the door. He’s got it half opened when Newt speaks again. 

   “You never bothered me,” he says. Thomas looks at him. He seems genuine. Then, he walks over. Thomas stays in place. Newt stops when he reaches him, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.” 

   “Why?” Thomas asks. 

   “For me to put my number in,” Newt says. Thomas looks even more confused now. “You don’t have to use it, but I’m giving it anyway.” 

   Thomas has never met anyone with this much confidence before in his life. He takes out his phone, then goes into his contacts before handing it to Newt. Thomas watches his fingers curl around the phone as he types, and gets lost in staring until he’s being given the phone back. “Um. Thanks,” Thomas says, putting it in his pocket. 

   “Yeah,” Newt says. If Thomas isn’t mistaken, Newt looks just as surprised as he does that he just gave Thomas—a random hookup—his number.

   “I’ll, uh,” Thomas says, opening the door. He can’t say he’ll see Newt soon. That’d be weird.  

   “Bye, Tommy,” Newt says. 

   That’s the word he was looking for. “Bye,” Thomas says, before walking out and closing the door behind himself, standing at the top of the stairs for a long moment.  _ That did not go as expected.   _


	3. bad decisions

The first time Thomas uses Newt’s number is two days later. He’s not having a very good day. Without work or school, he’s been left to just sit there and think. He tried to text Teresa, but she left him on read for just a simple ‘hi.’ 

   So, Thomas drank a beer, then watched TV for an hour. That didn’t help at all, so he tried to be productive and study, which turned out to be even worse. Thomas then decided that he just shouldn’t be using his brain. 

   He considered texting Newt, but he figured that would be rude. Now he’s waiting for him to pick up, his heart in his throat. Calling was probably also the wrong choice. 

   But, Newt doesn’t answer. It goes to voicemail after ringing a bunch of times, Thomas hanging up without leaving a message. He then groans, staring at his phone. What’s he supposed to do now? 

   He’s about to order food when his phone rings. It’s Newt. He stares at it for a moment, then picks it up. 

   “Hello?” he asks.

   “Who is this?” Newt asks. 

_ Oh. _ Newt never actually got Thomas’ number. “It’s Thomas.” 

   Silence for a moment. Thomas fidgets with the material of his couch. “Hi, Tommy,” Newt says. There’s noise in the background. 

   “Um,” Thomas says. He didn’t think this all out. “How have you been—” 

   “Why are you  _ really _ calling?” Newt asks, cutting him off. 

   Thomas’ face is burning now. Right to the chase. “What’re you doing right now?” 

   “Talking to you,” Newt says matter-of-factly. Thomas bites his lip. “Are you asking me to come over?” 

   Thomas’ eyes squeeze shut. What if this is a mistake? “Y-yeah. If you can.” 

   More silence. Then, finally, “I’ll be there in a half hour.” 

   Newt doesn’t say anything more before hanging up. Thomas takes a deep breath, then tosses his phone onto the couch. A half hour. He looks around. He should probably tidy up and make himself… decent. 

  
  
  
  


Forty-five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Thomas has been sitting on the couch for fifteen minutes, and he was actually beginning to get nervous. He  _ is _ nervous. 

   Thomas jumps up from the couch and opens the door. The taller blonde is leaning against the wall beside the door, wearing the jacket he gave Thomas to borrow. His hair looks more styled today if that makes any sort of sense. His eyes flick up to Thomas’ wet hair, then trail down him, making Thomas feel something tingle in his spine. 

   “Hi,” Thomas says awkwardly. Newt meets his eyes again, and there’s a small cocky smile on his lips that Thomas is convinced is just permanently etched into his face. “Uh, come in.” 

   Thomas steps back, letting Newt in. As he walks past Thomas, he’s taking his jacket off, Thomas observing him. Seeing Newt in his apartment solidifies how weird this is. He’s only met this guy twice in a shady nightclub, and now he’s in his home? 

   He steps forward and takes Newt’s coat from him without thinking, then throws it onto the couch. Newt looks around, and Thomas goes to apologize for the place being small before he remembers the story he told the other day. 

   Finally, Newt turns to look back at Thomas. “I don’t really do house calls,” he says. Thomas is embarrassed into speechlessness. His cheeks are ridiculously flushed, and he looks down at his feet. 

   The silence is unbearable. When he looks up, though, Newt is closer to him, practically staring him down. Thomas tries to ignore how hot that is.  _ What an asshole. _ Who says that? “Why are you here, then?” 

   Newt smirks. “You tell me,” he says. “Bad day, Tommy?” 

   “I don’t feel like talking about it,” Thomas says truthfully. 

   “I can work with that,” Newt says, stepping even closer yet. “I’m assuming you’ve got a bedroom?” 

   There it is again. That feeling Newt gives him—it’s a rush, that’s for sure. It’s like Thomas is a teenager still, in a way. 

   Instead of risking something stupid coming out of his mouth, Thomas turns and walks to his bedroom. He can hear Newt following. What’s it like being so at ease? Naturally having the upper hand no matter what? 

   They’ve barely even entered the room when Thomas feels hands on his waist, turning him around. Then, Newt’s hand is on the back of Thomas’ neck, and Thomas automatically melts into the kiss, Newt biting his bottom lip and eliciting a low moan that Thomas can’t stop. 

   All of Thomas’ issues seemingly go out the window as Newt’s hands travel down his body. He’s not hesitant with being as rough as Thomas wants him to be, and when they eventually stumble their way to Thomas’ bed, clothing being discarded as quickly as possible, it’s euphoric. 

   Thomas can let himself enjoy this a bit more this time since he’s not with Teresa anymore. So when he hears Newt groaning Thomas’ nickname deeply, he likes it. Maybe a little  _ too _ much. When Newt kisses his neck, making Thomas tug on his soft blonde hair, he’s not as worried about anyone seeing the marks it might leave. 

   He can’t stop compliments and praise for Newt from spilling from his lips. Out of guilt, there wasn’t much speaking the past two times, and Newt seems to catch onto this too. Their aggressiveness eases up, and maybe that’s not how they’re supposed to act—Thomas wouldn’t know—but neither of them seems to care. Right now, nothing else matters. 

  
  
  
  


This time, they’re making out for what feels like a while after. Newt is on top of Thomas, and Thomas’ hands are on Newt, and their closeness is intoxicating in itself. The last two times, it was awkward silence. But this is Thomas’ territory now, and he’s not kicking Newt out. Not that Newt ever kicked  _ him _ out, but he felt the obligation to not overstay. Newt, however, can stay as long as he wants. It’s less time Thomas isn’t thinking about being alone and a shitty person. 

   When Thomas gets particularly handsy, Newt pulls back from kissing him, grinning as he looks over him, his pupils so large they practically make up his entire eye. “How bad  _ was _ your day?” 

   “Like I said, I don’t want to talk about it,” Thomas says. He’s about to kiss Newt again, but Newt speaks before he can. 

   “You sure about that?” Newt asks. 

   Thomas frowns. “Since when do  _ you _ want to talk?” 

   Something changes in Newt’s expression. For a split second, Thomas doesn’t recognize his look. But before he can identify it, the regular Newt is back. “Just saying, you’re quite the eager one today.” 

   Is it that noticeable? Thomas realizes his hand is on Newt’s ass. Yeah, it’s probably noticeable. “Is that a bad thing?” 

   “Do I sound like I’m complaining?” Newt asks. Thomas just looks up at him, and Newt’s eyes carefully trail over his face. From his own eyes, down to his nose, lips, jaw, neck, and chest—which Thomas is sure must be covered in marks. Finally, Newt’s hand comes up, and his fingertips lightly trace down the side of Thomas’ face before he grips his jaw, turning his head to the side and dipping down to kiss his neck. 

   Thomas’ hands fly up to Newt’s back, his eyes rolling up as he squeezes them shut.  _ There we go.  _

  
  
  
  


As much as he hates to admit it, Thomas is  _ exhausted. _ Newt’s completely tired him out, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep while he’s here. He mentally scolds himself for the almost giddiness he gets when he sees that Newt’s been here for two hours since it’s after six now. 

   They can’t keep fooling around much longer, but Thomas doesn’t want to be alone. “Hey, Newt?” 

   “Yeah?” Newt asks. They both seem pretty breathless at this point. 

   “Do you, uh,” Thomas starts, inwardly cringing at himself, “wanna eat something?”

   He seems to consider this for a moment. “I have to be at the club at eight,” he says, lifting his head and looking at the clock. Thomas just stares at him. How does he have a jawline  _ that _ sharp? He’s afraid Newt is about to decline when he speaks up. “Yeah, I should be fine. Sure.” 

   Thomas fights to hide his relief, sitting up fully. “Awesome." He actually cringes this time. What is he? Fifteen?

   Newt laughs. Thomas likes the sound of it. “Very. I’m hungry as hell—what’d you have in mind?” 

   “Anything you want,” Thomas says, turning back to face Newt. He’s sitting up against the headboard, his chest showing. Thomas stares at the marks unabashedly this time.

   “So you’re one of those kinds of people,” Newt says, snapping him out of his daze. 

   “What?” Thomas asks. 

   “Bad at making decisions,” Newt says. 

   Thomas considers where he is right now. “You could say that.” 

   Newt looks amused. “Want me to order a pizza, then?” 

   “I’ve got it,” Thomas says, thankful that Newt made the suggestion. Newt begins to protest, but Thomas cuts him off. “My house, my rules. Alright?” 

   Newt raises his eyebrows. “Well fuck then, Tommy. You sound like you’re trying for a round three.” 

   Thomas only had that small bit of dominance in him, and now he’s left with the embarrassing inability to back it up. “I’m ordering. Don’t argue me on it,” Thomas says, turning to look for his phone, which he now realizes is in the living room. 

   “I’d almost take you seriously if you weren’t such a sub,” Newt says teasingly, as Thomas starts to get up, grabbing his boxers. 

   “Screw you,” Thomas says halfheartedly, shaking his head and concealing a smile. 

   “Don’t you mean—”

   “You know what I meant,” Thomas says. 

   The two of them get dressed—well, Thomas does, and Newt excuses himself to the bathroom to clean up a bit—and Thomas goes out into the living room to get his phone. He grabs it from the couch and carefully sits down before dialing the number. 

   As he orders, his eyes are on the bathroom door. He should clean up too. Is it weird having Newt stay? Thomas definitely doesn’t want to be on his own again, and Newt makes him feel electric in a way. When he leaves, Thomas is probably just going to sleep the rest of the day away.

   Newt only walks back out as Thomas finishes ordering. He’s fully clothed now, which Thomas doesn’t know if he should be slightly disappointed by or grateful for. Thomas perks up at the sight of him. “You can come sit,” Thomas says. 

   Newt nods, then just stares at the couch for a moment like he’s never seen one before in his life. Then, when he walks over and sits next to Thomas like he owns the place, Thomas is pretty sure he read that wrong. He’s as confident as ever.

   “You’re not about to yell at me for something again, right?” Newt asks. 

   Thomas rolls his eyes. “Not this time, no,” he says, before shaking his head. “Sorry about that.” 

   “Don’t apologize, it’s always good to be held accountable for someone else’s mistakes,” Newt says sarcastically. 

   “Did you just call yourself a mistake?” Thomas asks.

   There’s something in Newt’s eyes and tone that Thomas can’t quite figure out. “Not at all.” 

   The first time, Newt was a mistake. The second and third time, Thomas isn’t so sure. “Well, I don’t hold you accountable. I’m the dumbass.” 

   “I don’t think so,” Newt says, pouting. 

   “How the hell am I not an idiot? ‘Cause I’d love to hear it,” Thomas says. 

   Newt opens his mouth, then closes it almost instantly. He licks his lips, and Thomas can’t help but track the movement carefully. “What happened?” he eventually asks.

   Thomas runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it. He didn’t want to think about this. “I told Teresa. She made me leave her apartment. We haven’t spoken since—why are you even asking?” 

   “You seem to think that my sleeping around means I don’t have a heart,” Newt says, rolling his eyes. “You clearly want to talk about it, you wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t want me to fuck the sa—”

   “I get it,” Thomas says, putting a hand up to stop Newt mid-sentence. 

   “I’m your distraction, right?” Newt asks. 

   Thomas’ face softens. “Y-you’re not just—”

   Newt cuts him off with a laugh. “If you think I’m offended, you’ve got another thing coming, mate. I’m just saying, you still called me.”

   “What does  _ that _ mean?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt huffs a bit, then leans forward, his eyes piercing into Thomas’ own. Thomas momentarily wonders how many other guys he’s looked at like this. It makes him feel stupid for getting chills. “It means that you called me because it wasn’t a mistake. Even that first time—you  _ liked _ it.”

   Thomas’ initial reaction is anger. But they’ve been through that too many times before. Besides, if he looked Newt in the eyes and told him he was wrong about Thomas liking it, he’s not so sure if that would be the truth. 

   “It was still wrong of me,” Thomas says, not confirming nor denying it.

   “Yeah, sure. Underage drinking is wrong too, but it didn’t stop me from liking it,” Newt says, shrugging.

   “You drank underage?” Thomas asks quickly before he can stop himself. 

   “Wow, you were a nerd in high school,” Newt says, amused. 

   “I’m not a nerd for following the law—listen, the point is, you don’t cheat on people. Nothing you say can change my mind on that,” Thomas says, getting frustrated. He knew Newt’s stance on this already.

   “Fine. But now it’s over with, and something tells me you’ll be happier now,” Newt says. It almost sounds like a challenge. 

   “Is that so?” Thomas asks.

   Newt hums in response, looking Thomas over. Thomas wonders if he does it on purpose. Like he’s somehow gaining something from the way it sends a ripple of something deadly through Thomas.

_ What the hell? _

   Thomas stands quickly like the couch lit on fire beneath him, and Newt barely flinches. “Uh, I’ll be right back, I’m just gonna… clean myself up a bit,” Thomas says as a way of excusing himself before walking to the bathroom. 

   Obviously, he’s attracted to Newt. That’s not new information. If you’re gonna hook up with someone a few times, you’re not going to find them repulsive. But inviting the guy to have dinner with you and musing over every little action? If Newt could read his mind, he’d probably laugh in his face. 

   Thomas looks at himself in the mirror, all sexed up and tired, neck covered with marks, face still burning and his hair tousled. He  _ just _ got out of a relationship. What would Teresa say if she saw him now?

   As he cleans himself, he seriously questions his life choices. What is he doing? Is happy when he’s with Newt or is it just a momentary bliss? A distraction, like he said? What if Thomas is the kind of person who does just enjoy sleeping around? He’s never been that way before. Usually, he wants something stable. A connection. So what exactly is this?

   When he eventually walks out, Newt is on his phone, not even looking up when Thomas closes the door of the room. It’s not until Thomas is sitting next to him that he turns the device off. “I’ve got a confession,” Newt says suddenly. 

   “What?” Thomas asks, worried at his serious tone. 

   Newt looks at him, and it takes him another moment to speak. Why do his eyes always wander like that? “I have never seen an episode of Friends,” he eventually says. 

   Thomas’ jaw drops, completely disregarding his other thoughts. “Are you kidding me?”

   “Nope,” Newt says, pointing to the box set of the show Thomas has under his TV. “Saw that, and figured I’d let you know in case you wanted to throw me out now.” 

   “Are you kidding me? This is a golden opportunity,” Thomas says.

   “How do you mean?” Newt asks, frowning. 

   “Showing someone Friends for the first time? How often does _ that _ happen?” Thomas says, his lit up expression dropping suddenly once he really thinks about it. “Wait. Um, I mean, I don’t know if you  _ do _ want to watch it, but—”

   “Sure,” Newt says, shrugging. “Why not?”

   Thomas’ smile starts to reappear when he hears a knock at the door. His eyes go wide, his stomach doing flips. What if that’s Teresa? She can’t see that he’s with—

   “Are you afraid of the pizza guy or something?” Newt asks with a laugh. 

_ Oh. Right. _ “Sorry,” Thomas says, before getting up to answer the door. He really needs to pull it together. This is just him hanging out with… are they even friends? Does this classify as friends with benefits? Or are they purely benefits? 

   As Thomas pays for the pizza—AKA giving the guy a hell of a tip by paying for an eight dollar pizza with a twenty—he tries to shut his mind off. Newt is here so that he  _ won’t _ think, so now why is he overthinking this? Maybe spending time with him without having sex will be nice. Maybe they can walk away as actual friends. 

   He turns back, and Newt is staring at Thomas’ coffee table with such intensity that Thomas believes for a half a second that he’s trying to set it on fire with his mind. His jaw is set, and his leg is bouncing, his hand playing with the material of the couch. Thomas hasn’t ever seen him looking this unnerved before. What could have happened?

   Instead of asking, Thomas just takes a step into the room, not drawing attention to it. “Got the pizza,” he says, looking down at it as Newt looks up.

   “You sure I can’t pay you back for at least half?” Newt says. Miraculously, he looks like his expression never changed from its usual coolness. 

   “My rules, remember?” Thomas says, placing the pizza on the coffee table before turning to grab his box set. Obviously, he has the episodes on streaming. But, being the fanatic he is, he likes the novelty of the DVDs. 

   Newt hums as a response while Thomas fiddles with the TV. “How do you have time to watch TV, anyway?” 

   Thomas frowns, turning back to him once he’s got the episode menu up. “What do you mean?”

   “I thought scientists just did science stuff all day,” Newt says. 

   “Once again,” Thomas says, getting up and plopping himself back down onto his couch, “not a scientist yet. But they’re normal people. Watching TV, going to clubs…”

   “Hooking up with strangers?” Newt says, with his damned smirk. Thomas would slap it off of him if he didn’t have the ridiculous urge to kiss it off. 

   Instead, he just rolls his eyes, trying to fight the heat he feels creeping onto his face. “Evidently.” 

   “Hm. Nice to know you can enjoy yourselves too,” Newt says. Thomas finds himself actually smiling. For a random one—well, three now—night stand, he could definitely do worse. He’s actually surprised at how out of his league Newt is. Tall, fit, hot—even  _ British. _ But it makes him a total pig to be proud of that. Obviously. 

   Thomas can’t understand the expectant look Newt is giving him until he remembers the remote in his hand, quickly wiping the dumb grin off his face. “Okay, if you don’t like the show, I’m legally allowed to burn one of your clothing items,” Thomas says, before pressing play on the first episode. 

   Newt raises his eyebrows. “Which one?” 

   “Does it matter?” 

   “‘Course it matters. If I walk into the club with no pants, it’ll raise some questions,” Newt says. “Actually, you know what, I may have done that before.” 

   Thomas feels a pang in his chest at that. A reminder of the usual life Newt leads. He’s not judging, of course, but it solidifies it again for him—this is  _ weird. _ Him being here alone is weird, and now they’re watching the Friends pilot together.

   Speaking of the Friends pilot, it’s absolutely hilarious, and Thomas actually hasn’t watched an episode in months. Newt’s actually kinda right about not having the time. But once they’re five minutes into it, Thomas finds himself laughing like it’s the first time he’s seen it.

   “What’s that one’s name again?” Newt asks, pointing.

   “Joey,” Thomas says through a mouthful of pizza.

   “He’s hot,” Newt says, with a nod.

   “I like Rachel,” Thomas says, looking back at the TV.

   “I’m gay, remember?” Newt says, making Thomas snort. “Objectively, though, you’re right.”

   “You’re right too,” Thomas says. He’s never actually sat around and gave opinions on guys to anyone. Girls, yes, but not guys, and especially not with another guy. Newt is so unashamed, in every sense of the word. It’s refreshing, considering Thomas is practically ashamed of his existence.

   At one point, Newt laughs, and it’s unlike any other time he’s heard Newt laugh before. Usually, it’s laced with something like teasing, or it’s almost not genuine. But this one is real, and he doubles over with it, making Thomas grin. He’s enjoying the show, so that’s good, but it also feels like an accomplishment. Like Thomas broke some kinda wall.

   It’s nearly seven when the episode ends, and Thomas looks at Newt, but Newt doesn’t even return it, instead only grabbing the remote and starting the second episode. Thomas leans back onto the couch and smiles to himself. 

  
  
  
  


“Uh, Newt,” Thomas says. The pizza is gone somehow—the lanky boy can handle his food—and they’re both spread out on the couch, although not touching. Whenever they do happen to touch, Thomas notices it automatically and has to force himself not to jump back. 

   “Hm?” Newt says, his eyes still glued to the TV.

   “It’s eight,” Thomas says, almost fearfully. 

   “Yeah?” Newt says, still not getting it. 

   “The club?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt sits up, his eyes widening dramatically. “Oh fuck.”

   “I’m sorry,” Thomas says, pausing the episode.

   “Not your fault,” Newt says, looking around. Eventually, he finds his jacket, hurrying to get it on. 

   “Well, uh,” Thomas says, standing up when Newt does. “Thanks for watching Friends.”

   “Consider me converted,” Newt says, distracted with making sure he has everything. “I assume my clothes are safe?” 

   “Huh?” Thomas asks. Newt just looks at him. “Oh, that. Clothes are definitely safe.” 

   “Right, then,” Newt says. He looks around, then back at Thomas. 

   Ten seconds of tense silence follow. Well, tense to Thomas. What do you say now? There’s no promise of seeing him again. But for some reason, that doesn’t sit well with Thomas. 

   He finds the word he used last time. “Bye.” 

   “Bye,” Newt says, almost looking relieved to hear Thomas speak first. 

   Thomas watches Newt as he walks out, not looking back. 


	4. bloodline

“Fucking hell, holy fucking shit!”

   Thomas throws his head back laughing, and he feels a sharp slap land on his arm. 

   “Shut up, it’s not funny,” Newt says, giving him a death glare.

   “It’s a little funny,” Thomas says through another laugh. “You  _ really _ don’t watch these often, do you?”

   “Yes, Thomas, we’ve established this you fucking twat,” Newt says, his eyes still on Thomas.

   “You’re looking at me to avoid looking at the TV, aren’t you?” 

   “No,” Newt says. Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Wanna have sex again?”

   “That’s sad,” Thomas says. Newt shoves him, then returns his attention to the TV, half curled up on the couch.

   They’re currently watching a horror movie Thomas bought a while back. It’s the first Insidious—Thomas had bought it because Teresa wanted it, but he’s not going to tell Newt that. Not that it’d make a difference.

   This is the third time Thomas has used Newt’s number. It’s always Thomas. Never the other way around. But Newt always comes over. 

   It’s always the same deal. Thomas calls Newt. Newt replies curtly, knowing exactly what Thomas wants. He comes over, makes Thomas forget about his problems for a while, then Thomas asks him to stay. It worked that way the last two times, and also today, so that must be their normal, right?

   The past two times have been very similar to the first time Newt came to Thomas’ place. Thomas is pretty sure his body is just going to be in a permanent state of soreness. He’s only worked a few shifts, but he bought a turtleneck a few days ago. He absolutely needs it for tomorrow.

   As for Teresa, she hasn’t reached out. It’d probably be rude of Thomas to text, right? But he can’t help but wonder how she is. I mean, they did date for a year. He loved her—doesn’t he still? 

   “Why the hell is he going in there?” Newt asks. He’s genuinely terrified, Thomas almost feels bad.

   “His  _ son _ is in there,” Thomas says.

   “Question still stands,” Newt says. 

   Thomas laughs. “Wanna hold my hand through the scary parts?” 

   “They’re  _ all _ the scary parts,” Newt says.

   Newt’s hands are close to his face, looking ready to either shield his eyes or ears at any time. Thomas didn’t expect him to be afraid of  _ anything, _ let alone a silly movie. Granted, he’d probably be the same if he hadn’t seen this movie already.

   A few minutes later, Newt jumps and his head somehow winds up in Thomas’ shoulder, his hands gripping his bicep for dear life. Thomas’ breath hitches, catching in his chest.  _ Why? _ They literally have had sex a bunch of times, so why does this phase him? 

   “Before you give me another bruise, here,” Thomas says. He hesitates for just a moment before bringing his arm up, and around Newt instead, so his face is in Thomas’ chest and Thomas’ hand is resting on Newt’s arm.

   Newt tenses up. Thomas feels it, but he doesn’t move. Neither of them moves. Thomas holds his breath, trying not to wince. Should he be moving? 

   Before he can answer that question, Newt jumps, burying himself further into Thomas and scaring Thomas from the sheer suddenness of it. 

   He tries to focus back on the movie, but Newt’s hand somehow finds its way onto Thomas’ stomach. Thomas unintentionally tenses his stomach in response. His hand is warm on him, and Thomas can’t think about it.  _ Definitely do not think about the hand close to your belly button, which is close to a lot of other stuff.  _

   The movie is incredibly close to being over, and it’s only seven. Thomas isn’t sure if he wants the film to end now, or go on for another hour. He’s not sure of  _ anything _ lately. Newt was right when he said Thomas was bad at making up his mind.

   Another two minutes go by, and Thomas is just about settled. That is until Newt’s hand slides a little lower down on his stomach. Thomas takes a sharp breath, then squirms slightly in his spot. 

   Newt, ever the observer, seems to notice this. Without so much as looking up at Thomas, his fingers start tracing circles low on Thomas’ stomach, every spot they touch setting a bigger fire in Thomas. 

   He bites his lip, tilting his head back a little and fighting not to react to it. What is Newt  _ doing? _ After a few moments of this, Newt jumps again, his hand landing flat, and Thomas almost sighs in relief at it. He’s been trying to focus on the red demon from the movie to try to prevent being embarrassed further. 

   They stay like that for the next few minutes as the movie plays. Thomas is conscious of every breath he takes, and every slight movement either of them makes. The film has been totally forgotten about by him, but Newt still seems into it. 

   Until the last scene happens and Newt barely reacts. Instead, his hand starts traveling downwards again, and Thomas grips onto Newt’s shoulder harder than intended.

   Newt’s hand arrives at the waistband of Thomas’ sweatpants, and Thomas already feels a problem developing. Before he can say anything, Newt’s lips are on Thomas’ neck, kissing it softly. 

   Thomas moans, and Newt’s hand slips down his pants, making him buck up his hips as his hand curls around him. Newt’s tongue alone is killing him, but with his hand added in, Thomas is a goner. 

   He likes it.

   It’s not long before Newt is climbing into Thomas’ lap, Thomas helping him pull his pants further down, granting Newt full access. His smile is wicked, and Thomas always finds himself weakened by his lustful eyes.

   Newt leans back down and bites Thomas’ jaw, and Thomas’ hands fly up to Newt’s back, where he knows he’s already done tons of damage today. He’d feel bad if he wasn’t groaning Newt’s name in pure pleasure. 

   “Fuck,” Thomas nearly whines when Newt increases his speed. He pulls Newt closer to him until he winds up swallowing one of Thomas’ noises with a sloppy open-mouthed kiss, Thomas leaning into it with an aggression that Newt gives right back to him.

   When they pull away for air, Newt leans his forehead against Thomas’, their noses touching and breathing shared air. 

   Thomas has never been so responsive in his life. But, looking at Newt above him, feeling the warmth from his body and the subtle pulling at his hair from the non-occupied hand, he finds himself spent after what probably wasn’t even five whole minutes. 

   Newt runs his hand through Thomas’ hair while he comes down from it, and even through his blissful haze, Thomas recognizes the softness is the action. He moves the hair out of Thomas’ face, then his fingers trace Thomas’ features, leading down to his jaw. Thomas fights not to squeeze his eyes shut until Newt’s kissing him again. 

   They must be disgusting now, but Thomas doesn’t even care, kissing Newt back. Newt tugs on his lip and Thomas doesn’t want to question any of it. Not when he feels this good. 

   After a minute, Newt pulls away. His face is flushed, and he merely looks at Thomas with yet another expression Thomas can’t figure out. They’re both breathing heavily, and Newt doesn’t have the typical lazy smirk on his face.

   Eventually, he looks down, almost like snapping out of his trance. “‘Spose we should clean up, then.” 

   “Definitely,” Thomas says. 

   Newt climbs off of him, and Thomas pulls his sweatpants up. As good as that was, the aftermath is never fun to deal with. Newt takes off his own shirt, balling it up. 

   “I can lend you a shirt,” Thomas says, getting up. He takes the shirt Newt’s holding from him, and Newt almost looks confused. “Sorry. I’ll wash this one.”

   “Um,” Newt starts, “that’s fine, really, I’ll just—”

   “No, no, I insist,” Thomas says, already running back into his room, leaving Newt shirtless in his living room.

   Without thinking about his actions, Thomas takes his shirt off and replaces it with another, throwing his and Newt’s into his hamper before grabbing a black shirt from his drawer and bringing it out and throwing it to Newt. 

   “You’re sure?” Newt asks. 

   “Positive,” Thomas says, his eyes apparently having a mind of their own as they look over Newt’s chest. 

   He snaps out of it when Newt puts the shirt on. It’s baggy on him, but somehow still looks good because Newt is some kind of god.

   “Well… thank you,” Newt says. He turns to Thomas’ TV, then looks back. “I should probably get going.” 

   “Oh. Yeah,” Thomas says. It’s close to eight now. 

   Newt grabs his jacket, then makes his way to the door. Thomas trails behind him, but keeps his distance because there are no clear boundaries or rules for anything involved in this.

   He’s expecting either no words at all or their usual “bye,” but instead, Newt opens the door and looks back at Thomas. 

   “See you, Tommy,” he says. Thomas doesn’t get the chance to respond before he’s gone. 

  
  
  
  


Thomas’ shift is almost over, and he’s extremely grateful for it. 

   It’s half past seven, and Thomas hates the dumb turtleneck he’s in. He wants out of it, especially since two of his co-workers have already both caught onto why he’s wearing it and mocked him mercilessly for it. They think the now faint—but still visible—marks have been made by Teresa. Thomas doesn’t correct them.

   He’s basically just doing paperwork, so that’s what he’s slowly making his way through now when his phone vibrates. He frowns, because… who really calls anymore?

   When he sneaks a look at it and sees the caller ID, his stomach flips. 

   Looking around, nobody’s paying much attention, so Thomas sneaks away into the back room they have, swiping to answer the call. Why, he doesn’t know. 

   “Hello?” he asks, almost accusingly.

   “Hey,” Brenda says. It’s been, what, ten days now since the last time he saw her?

   “Why are you calling?” Thomas asks, his tone turning a lot sourer than he intended. 

   “I just… I wanted to apologize,” Brenda says. 

   “I don’t believe you, and I’ll tell you why,” Thomas says, his voice low to avoid being heard by anyone else. “You’ve been into Teresa for months now, haven’t you?” 

   “Does that mean I can’t be sorry?” Brenda says. Thomas rolls his eyes. 

   “Well it doesn’t make a difference now anyway, does it,” Thomas says. 

   “Are you really going to be mad at me after you fucked some guy the moment you thought I was into Teresa?” Brenda asks. 

   There it is. Thomas’ face turns red, and anger ripples through him like a chill. “Did she seriously tell you that?”

   “Of course she did, you dumbass. Sure, I messed up, but you have no leg to stand on,” Brenda says. 

   “So that’s why you called, then? To rub it in my face that I screwed up?” Thomas hisses. 

   “Not originally, but who’s fault is that?” Brenda asks. 

   Thomas grips his phone so hard he may break it. “Bye, Brenda.” 

   “Thomas, listen, sh—”

   Thomas ends the call, running a hand through his hair. If something other than his phone were in his hand, he’d throw it across the room. He didn’t need that call. Not at all. He was  _ just _ starting to be able to focus at work again. 

   After taking an extra minute to breathe, Thomas walks back to his desk, collecting his things. 

   “Where are you hurrying off to, Tom?” Winston asks. He’s one of the aforementioned co-workers. 

   “Out,” Thomas mumbles, putting his bag over his shoulder.

   “Eager to see the missus, professor?” Winston asks, snickering. 

   Thomas glares at him because he’s absolutely not in the mood. “Sure thing.” 

   “Well have fun,” Winston says, before returning to his work. Thomas is glad. If he pried any further, he would have gotten an earful. 

   Thomas clocks out ten minutes early then rushes out the door. Being here even one more second sounds like it’d be impossible. It’s too quiet, and there’s no way he’ll be able to concentrate on a single thing he’s doing. 

   Once he’s in his car, he blasts music—of course, to the acceptable level where he could still hear sirens if need be—and begins driving, replaying that stupid call in his head. Brenda has some nerve calling him with a bullshit apology followed by yelling at him for his mistakes.

   As Thomas gets home, he looks at the time. Past eight. The music is still blaring in his ears, and he finds himself liking it. He knows what he wants to do tonight.

  
  
  
  


Thomas shuts his car door, the freezing air making him shiver. Although, he knows that won’t be a problem in a few moments. 

   He holds onto Newt’s now clean shirt as he walks up to the club. It’s been two or three days since Newt was over last when they watched the horror movie, and they haven’t spoken since, considering they’ve never actually texted or anything. But for some reason, sometimes Thomas almost feels inclined to reach out. Just to ask how he is. 

   Thomas pays whatever fee is necessary to get in, and by now it’s around ten, so it’s decently packed inside. The music vibrates through Thomas’ whole body, settling in his brain. Tonight, he finds it pleasant. 

   Immediately, he looks around for any sign of Newt. It’s a club, so obviously it’s not going to be easy to find one person that’s usually wearing all black. So, after a minute and dodging two or three particularly grabby people, Thomas heads for the bar. 

   He starts his usual struggle to get the bartender's attention as his eyes keep wandering. No blonde in sight at the moment. Eventually, he orders a beer, just because it’s the quickest drink to actually receive. 

   After he pays, he turns on his stool, taking a sip of the liquid. He doesn’t really even particularly like beer—or alcohol, for that matter. But when in Rome, right? Besides, he doesn’t exactly plan on driving home just yet.

   He stands after a minute, then heads towards the back of the club. The place where he sat with Teresa and Brenda. It’s weird to think that that was less than two weeks ago, considering what’s happened since.

   Newt isn’t anywhere around there either. Thomas frowns. He said he’s always here after eight, so where is he?

   Then, he remembers.  _ The lounge. _ Thomas sets off to the side door, leading to that long hallway. When he gets there, he’s met with the security guard, as usual. 

   “Hi,” Thomas shouts. The guard just looks at him. “Can, I, uh, get back there?”

   “What’s your name?” he asks, barely raising his voice.

   “Thomas?” he says like his own name is a question.

   The security guard takes a list out of his pocket like this is a movie, unfolding it before scanning it quickly. “Tommy?”

   “That’s me,” Thomas says, biting back a smile. He figured this was a longshot, but Newt actually added him to the list? 

   “Head on back,” the guy says, nodding to the side. 

   “Thanks,” Thomas says, before practically rushing through the door. 

   As he goes through the hall, he realizes just how intoxicating this environment can be. If you’re in the right mindset, clubs can be pretty damn cool. 

   He finally makes it to the lounge, taking a huge swing of his overpriced beer, Newt’s shirt slung over his shoulder. Hopefully, Newt’s actually in here. He looks around, and upon initial assessment, doesn’t spot him anywhere. 

   That doesn’t stop him from venturing further into the room, looking around. Everyone’s dancing, but Thomas still doesn’t dance, so he’s definitely not going to join. Well, not unless Newt makes him. It’s not so bad with him.

   He bumps into people, but it’s not nearly as cramped as the other room, so it’s easier to move through the crowd. Eventually, his back bumps into someone, sending him forward, and he stops himself before he can crash into yet another person’s back.

   A taller person, with blonde hair and a slender build.  _ And he’s dancing with someone. _

   Well, dancing would be the polite term. But Thomas doesn’t quite know the word for what’s going on here. All he knows is that Newt’s hands are all over this guy, and this guy’s got his hands on Newt’s ass and lips on his neck. 

   Something in Thomas stops working. Or maybe it’s more like somethings. He can’t feel his heart in his chest, the wind seems to have been knocked out of him, and the color has been drained from his face. His feet don’t work either, so all he can do is stare. Stare at Newt’s hips grinding into his partner’s. Stare at Newt’s hands mapping out the guy’s neck and chest. Stare until someone is finally staring back. 

   Newt catches Thomas’ eye and does almost a double take before his face drops. The guy slobbering all over him pulls away, and he looks at Thomas, but Thomas doesn’t pay him much attention.

   “Tommy,” Newt says. If words were coming after that, Thomas doesn’t want to stick around to hear them. 

   His brain turns back on, and he takes the stupid shirt off of his shoulder, practically throwing it at Newt, Newt catching it as it hits his chest. Then, Thomas turns and starts walking away as quickly as his legs can manage. 

   The back of his throat burns, and he downs the rest of his drink as he walks. He stops to put it on a counter. Big mistake. 

   Someone grabs his wrist, and Thomas turns around to face him, his jaw set. 

   “What the fuck, Thomas?” Newt asks. 

   “Let me go,” Thomas says, straining against Newt. 

   “What is wrong with you?” 

   Thomas laughs humorlessly and regrets it a moment later when he feels his eyes sting. Truth is, he doesn’t even have the answer to that. “I’m leaving. Sorry to intrude.” 

   “How can you be mad at me when you know exactly what this is? Who I am?” Newt asks, letting Thomas’ wrist go. He didn’t grip him hard enough to hurt him, but the spot he was touching feels like it’s on fire to Thomas anyway. 

   “Do I?” Thomas spits back. Newt looks hurt. Thomas doesn’t care. “Forget it. Just forget it—”

   “You know I don’t do relationships, Thomas, I’m—”

   “Happy with your life? Yeah, I see that,” Thomas says. Newt’s words hit a nerve deep inside Thomas, but by all means, he knows he’s right. Why is Thomas so upset? He  _ did _ know who Newt was, right off the bat. Newt’s face goes from hurt, to angry.

   “You use me as a distraction. So what’s bothering you now, Tommy?” Newt says, the bitterness in his tone foreign to Thomas’ ears, almost mocking him. 

   “Fuck you,” Thomas says. He takes a step back, and Newt looks like he almost takes a step to meet him. He doesn’t. “Bye, Newt.” 

   Thomas walks out of there as quickly as he can to avoid anyone seeing his absolutely ridiculous, unsolicited tears. 

  
  
  
  


When Thomas gets back to his apartment, it’s with a new bottle of vodka. He bought it on the way home because he doesn’t have work until late tomorrow and he doesn’t want to be sober until then.

   Is he seriously upset over a random hookup? Someone he met as a one night stand? Sure, they’ve hooked up a few times since, but that meant nothing to Newt. Why should it? Just like he shouldn’t care about Thomas’ problems. This is all on Thomas. As usual. 

   He doesn’t even take his shoes off before he pours himself a glass of the bitter drink. The plan? Drink this until he falls asleep. Then, to avoid a hangover in the morning, drink once he’s up. 

   Before he can even take the first sip, his thoughts are already driving him mad. There’s too much silence. Not enough distraction. There’s no Newt to take his cares away this time.

   Newt hooks up with guys in the club. That’s what he does. He doesn’t do house calls either, but Thomas was the exception there, right? Maybe he figured he’d be the exception for other things too. 

   What even were they? Did they ever reach the friends level? Probably not in Newt’s mind. So none of it matters. None of it at all. It was a fling from day one, and Thomas needs to think of it as such. He takes a long sip from his glass, grimacing at the taste after. 

   Thomas has no right to be mad at Newt, he has no right to be mad at Teresa, and really, he can’t blame Brenda for yelling at him. So all he can do is go back to blaming himself. Wallowing in self-pity.  _ Alone _ this time. 

   He falls asleep on the couch, the bottle in front of him and the glass falling out of his hand. 

  
  
  
  


A knock at the door wakes Thomas up out of an awful dream. For a moment, he thinks he still  _ is _ dreaming. But the knock sounds again, the sound vibrating through his skull. 

   “Coming,” Thomas yells weakly. What time even is it? He squints at the TV set. It’s two in the afternoon already? He woke up an hour ago and tried to ride out his plan. Maybe he’s still a little drunk. 

   He coughs, stumbling off the couch. His neck is killing him. After he sends this person away, he’s going to call out of work today. 

   Thomas gets to the door, rubbing his eyes. The room is a carousel to him. Once he finds the door handle, he opens it with the thought  _ what fresh hell is this? _

   That fresh hell’s name is Teresa, and she’s nicely dressed with her hair done—a stark contrast from Thomas’ drunken state in last night’s clothes. His jaw drops.

   “Resa,” he says. 

   “Tom, you look—”

   “Like shit? I’ve been told,” Thomas says, clearing his throat. He kinda needs to throw up. Especially now. 

   “What… why?” she asks. 

   “Because I’m a fuck up and ruined my life,” Thomas answers simply. Teresa looks lost for words, so Thomas opens the door. “Do you want to come in? If not, I get it.”

   She’s visibly conflicted but comes in anyway. Thomas turns back to her after closing the door, and she looks around the room before spotting the comically large vodka bottle. 

   “I bought it last night,” Thomas says. Why did he say that? 

   “You didn’t drive, right?” Teresa asks worriedly. 

   Thomas almost smiles. “No. I had one beer, then cried in my car until I was sure I was sober enough.”  _ Again, why? _

   “Why were you crying?” Teresa asks. 

   Thomas’ eyes are still stinging from last night, and his sinuses are only half of the reason he has a headache. “A few reasons. Mostly because I’m stupid.”

   Teresa’s arms are crossed, and Thomas knows that stance. She’s guarded. Everyone in his life is guarded. 

   “Can I just say something?” Thomas asks. Teresa doesn’t say no, so he continues. His stomach is just one big knot by now, and the words burn his throat as he speaks, his voice cracking. “That guy from the club? He meant nothing. He means nothing.” 

   “Have you been this upset over us?” Teresa asks after a moment. 

_ Among other things. _ “I’m so sorry, Resa. So freaking sorry.” 

   “Tom…” 

   “You don’t have to forgive me. I don’t deserve it. I know. But please just—”

   “I-I think I can forgive you,” Teresa cuts him off. Thomas is stunned into speechlessness. “Maybe we can just… try again?”

   Thomas nods. She just looks at him. Big eyes, soft features. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, kissing her instead. 

   She melts into it for a moment, then pulls back. “Tom, what are you doing?” 

   Thomas has no clue. “I’m sorry.”

   “Are you still drunk?” Teresa asks. 

   “Maybe,” Thomas says truthfully. 

   “Did you sleep on the couch?”

   “Yes.”

   “You need real sleep. Go to bed, and I’ll bring you some stuff, alright?” Teresa says warily. 

   “You don’t have to do that,” Thomas says, shaking his head. 

   “That’s what girlfriends do, right?” Teresa says, attempting a smile.

   Girlfriend. Thomas smiles weakly. He doesn’t deserve her kindness. “Thanks, Resa.”

   He goes to turn, but Teresa takes him by the shoulder. Before he can ask why, she kisses him again. It’s familiar. 


	5. goodnight n go

Teresa has been at Thomas’ all day. It’s been a nice distraction for him, but it’s not like he can tell her everything bothering him, because it shouldn’t be bothering him. 

   Kissing Teresa doesn’t feel the same as kissing Newt. Again, with Teresa, it’s familiar. He almost searches for that feeling Newt gave him, but that was just because it was new. Maybe an adrenaline rush from knowing he was doing something stupid. 

   Teresa is delicate, where Newt was rough. It’s all different. And Thomas really needs to put that out of his mind.

   They have dinner together—Thomas orders in—and Teresa passes out in his bed at eleven, since she’s always had a strict sleeping schedule. Thomas, however, is left lying awake with his thoughts pestering him louder than ever. 

   He got Teresa back, shouldn’t he be happy now? The problem is solved. He can leave his screw-ups in the past. What’s the issue, right?

   Wrong. Because Thomas finds himself feeling trapped in the bed like his brain is holding him frozen against his will. His whole body is piping hot, despite not being under the blanket, and having the AC on in the dead of winter. So he forces himself out of bed, quietly leaving the room. But Teresa is a heavy sleeper, and the TV is on in there too, so he’s not too worried when he closes the door behind him. 

   He trudges to the couch and cleans up any of the garbage he’d left there because maybe busy work will help. It’s after midnight, and he’s not even a little tired, his mind racing so fast he can actually physically feel it working against his will. 

   After all of that is done, he goes to the bathroom. Then stares at himself in the mirror. Bags under his eyes. Hair in all different directions. He didn’t even look this bad in the first two days following his and Teresa’s breakup. 

   He splashes some water on his face, then regrets it because the commercials lie and all that does it make you flinch and get water on your shirt. So he dries himself, then goes back into the living room. He shouldn’t drink. He’s only just stopped feeling hungover. 

   How was he  _ before _ all of this? He was kind of used to his routine. Hang out with Teresa, go to work, go to school. It was what he was supposed to do, and he did it. He wasn’t unhappy with that. 

   So what changed, really? He was so used to that arrangement, maybe it’s just the fact that the routine was broken that’s got him so off-kilter? For a day or two there, he almost thought he’d learned how to be chill like Newt. Almost. 

   There’s a knock at the door, and Thomas almost thinks it’s someone else’s door, the sound just traveling because it’s quiet. But no, that’s definitely his door, because why would Thomas be able to relax for more than five freaking minutes? 

   He walks over to it. He’s got a few annoying neighbors. They’ve complained to him about the noise from the TV more than once. Maybe they’re here to complain? Or it’s a psychopath ready to kill him. Neither option would surprise him. 

   The option that  _ does _ surprise him, though, is standing outside his door. He’s clad in leather and other dark materials, but despite his cool style, he doesn’t look as good as usual. Something is off. But Thomas doesn’t want to find out what. 

   “Get the fuck out,” Thomas says, a hard glare accompanying the words. 

   “Whoa,” Newt says, his eyebrows raised. “A bit harsh, don’t you think, Tommy?”

   “No, it’s the middle of the night, and some asshole is knocking on my door, so I think I have every right to be harsh,” Thomas says. Newt looks him over. “If you tell me I look horrible, I will slam the door in your face. But actually, I should do that anyway.” 

   “I wasn’t going to say that,” Newt says. “Can I at least come in?”

   “Why? What on earth could you possibly want from me?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt huffs. “Only one way to find out.” 

   Thomas hardens his jaw. This is a  _ horrible _ idea. But, since he’s full of those, he opens the door anyway. Maybe he can give Newt a piece of his mind now. That might make him feel better. 

   Newt comes in, and he’s radiating that stupid dominant energy that Thomas knows so well by now. 

   “Why are you here?” Thomas asks. “House calls aren’t your thing.” 

   “Yeah, a lot of things aren’t my thing,” Newt bites back. What does that mean? “Can you just listen instead of being mad at me for once?”

   “I already know what you’re going to say,” Thomas says. “I can’t be mad because sleeping around is what you do. Yeah. I got it. And would you please keep your voice down?” 

   “Yeah, you’re right, but that’s not what I was going to say,” Newt says, not changing his volume.

   “Can you please be quiet?”

   “Why?”

   “Because Teresa is sleeping in my room and I would rather not wake her,” Thomas says sourly. Being totally honest, he takes a sick pleasure in telling Newt. Especially when he sees something flash over his expression. 

   “Teresa?” he asks, his voice finally quieter.

   “Yeah. Teresa. So would you just—”

   “Are you fucking with me, Thomas? You weren’t happy with her, you—”

   “You have no  _ idea _ what I am, so why do you care?” Thomas asks. Newt looks pissed, but Thomas is even angrier. “You were a mistake. And I fixed it.”

   “You know as well as I do that you’re lying to yourself,” Newt says. “She’s not what you wanted. You were ready to drop her the moment you suspected foul play, and what does that tell you?”

   “It tells me that I made the wrong decision,” Thomas says. 

   “And you’re happy now? Because you look peachy,” Newt says.  _ There it is. _

   “Yeah, last night was kind of a rough one, thanks,” Thomas says. 

   “I didn’t fuck that guy. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Newt says. But he says it in a rough tone. Like he didn’t want to. 

   “A different one, then?” Thomas says, taking a page from Teresa’s book and crossing his arms. 

   “You didn’t answer my question,” Newt says. “Are you happy now?” 

   Thomas’ face falls slightly, but he tries not to let it show. How’s he supposed to answer that? “I—”

   “Are you happy?” Newt asks, slowly with pauses between each word, taking a step or two towards Thomas. He doesn’t budge. 

   “What do you want me to say?” Thomas asks. It’s meant to come out stronger than the whisper it winds up being.

   “The truth,” Newt says, matching his tone. “Are you happy now?” 

   Thomas just looks up at him. His eyes are searching. Always searching Thomas. What is he looking for? As far as Thomas is concerned, he’s an open book. So what is so hard for Newt to find in him? 

   “Thomas,” Newt says. But here’s the thing. That effortless confidence he exudes isn’t there. Because when Thomas searches  _ him, _ he sees something new through the anger. Vulnerability. 

   “I’m—”

   “Don’t lie to me,” Newt says in such a hushed voice that it sounds dangerous. He’s close now. So close that Thomas feels his breath on his face. It brings back a slew of memories he can’t stop. 

   Is Thomas happy? With Teresa, is he happy? With his life, the way it is, is he happy? 

   Thomas swallows hard, not looking away from Newt. “No,” he finally says, breathlessly. “I’m not.” 

   “That’s what I thought,” Newt says. Not with the smugness of an ‘I told you so.’ He’s genuine. 

   Then Newt is kissing Thomas, pressing their bodies together, and out of habit and the awful tension between them, Thomas is kissing back. Newt grabs at him in desperation, and that’s what makes Thomas pull back.

   “What are you doing?” he asks, a hand on Newt’s chest weakly holding him there. 

   “You think too much,” Newt says. Thomas has never seen him like this before. 

   “You think too little,” Thomas says, but he’s no longer angry.

   “I’m starting to think you’re wrong about that,” Newt says. 

   “What do you want?” Thomas asks. The question means a hundred different things, and Newt is free to pick his interpretation. 

   There’s no trace of that smirk on his face as he cups Thomas’ face. Thomas feels it to his core. This isn’t new. But he still feels it. “I want to make you feel good again,” Newt says, his voice shaky. “Let me show you.” 

   “Show me what?” 

   Newt responds with a kiss. A different one that starts as something soft on the corner of Thomas’ mouth, and develops into something deeper, making Thomas’ toes curl and his insides turn to jelly. 

   Finally, he pulls away. He is the worst person to walk the face of the planet, and he knows it. Newt’s got this look in his eye. A glint in the darkness. Hope.

   “Fuck it.”

   Newt smiles briefly into Thomas’ kiss, and his hands move freer this time, Thomas getting chills under them. He’s unrelenting, and it makes Thomas’ guilt take a backseat, like usual. 

   Thomas doesn’t notice Newt walking him back into the couch until he falls onto it, landing in a sitting position. How does he do this? Have the power to completely shut down Thomas’ logic? The rational part of him that makes good decisions? 

   Newt straddles him, and Thomas traces down his back as he leans down and captures Thomas’ lips with his again. When Thomas’ cold hands slip under Newt’s shirt, Newt gasps a little—a sound Thomas enjoys thoroughly. Newt takes his jacket off and throws it on the ground. 

   Once Thomas tugs on Newt’s shirt and gets that off as well, Thomas’ own shirt comes off, and Newt takes it from him before looking at his neck and chest for an unusually long amount of time, his fingertips exploring the area. When he’s seemingly satisfied with what he found, he connects his lips with Thomas’ neck, leaving a soft trail of kisses down it. Thomas’ hands are busy messing up Newt’s hair.

   Eventually, Newt grinds his hips into Thomas’, making Thomas throw his head back, biting his tongue to keep from audibly reacting. Newt stops suddenly, then connects his lips with Thomas’ ear and leaving a sloppy kiss below it before speaking lowly with his thick accent and deeper than usual voice, his hand not holding Thomas’ shirt coming down to Thomas’ waistband. “Get these off, love,” he says. Thomas shudders. “Then I want you in front of me.”

   Thomas doesn’t need to be asked twice to get the restricting material off of him, and Newt climbs off. From there, Thomas listens to his instructions and lets the words ring through him, consuming his mind. Newt came prepared because that bastard clearly knew exactly what he could do to Thomas. 

   When Newt has Thomas bent over in front of him, Thomas has to struggle to control his reactions, but he’s so overstimulated that his senses have been heightened. Newt keeps talking into his ear, and that doesn’t help his case one bit. 

   At one point, Thomas whimpers, and Newt lays flat against his back. “What was that, Tommy?” 

   Thomas breathes heavily, and Newt bites down on his shoulder, making Thomas’ hips back up further into Newt. 

   “N-Newt,” Thomas says, desperate. 

   “Mmhm,” Newt says. Before Thomas can respond, his shirt is being pressed in front of his mouth. “Shh.”

   Thomas bites down onto it and lets out a muffled groan. Newt will undoubtedly be the death of him. 

  
  
  
  


Thomas is shaken lightly, and it wakes him immediately. He’s immensely confused for a moment, considering he’s on the couch. How much of today happened?

   When he turns to his left to see Newt, his stomach drops. Apparently, none of that was a dream. 

   There’s a blanket on him, but he can feel that he’s not wearing anything. Newt is, though. He’s fully clothed, and the time on the clock reads four am when Thomas checks it. 

   “You’ve only been out for a half hour or so,” Newt says. His hand is on Thomas’ thigh. “I would attempt to dress you myself, but—”

   “Yeah, no,” Thomas says, sitting up and letting the blanket fall to his stomach.  _ Holy shit. _ How did any of this happen? “I’m surprised you didn’t just leave.”

   “Why would I do that?” Newt asks, hurt laced in his tone. 

   “I don’t know. To avoid this?” Thomas says, his voice hoarse. 

   “You really think I’m the biggest asshole in the world, don’t you?” Newt asks. “Actually, I think you  _ want _ me to be.”

   “Why would I want that?” Thomas asks. 

   “I don’t know. To avoid this?” Newt says, throwing Thomas’ words back at him. He softens up after a moment. “I’m sorry.” 

   “Sorry for what?”

   “Yelling at the club,” Newt says. “I was kinda… caught off guard.” 

   “Yeah, so was I,” Thomas says. Why’d Newt have to remind him of that? Thomas suddenly feels sick. 

   Newt opens his mouth, then quickly closes it. His gaze finds the floor. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he eventually says. 

   “Neither should I,” Thomas says. He has to admit it’s true, but at the same time, he doesn’t regret blowing up. “Can I just ask you something?”

   “What’s that?” Newt asks, but Thomas gets a feeling he doesn’t actually want to know the answer. 

   “Are  _ you _ happy?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt’s jaw hardens. He doesn’t meet Thomas’ eyes. “I already told you I am.” 

   “And what do you think would make me happy? What makes you think Teresa doesn’t make me happy?” Thomas asks. 

   “I was under the impression I only had to answer one question,” Newt says, finally meeting Thomas’ eyes. “And I wouldn’t be here right now if she did.”

   Thomas shakes his head. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

   “What does that mean?” Newt asks.

   “You come here and convince me I’m not happy, but why? And you make me cheat on my girlfriend yet again—”

   “Girlfriend?” 

   “Yes,” Thomas says, putting his head in his hands. “Girlfriend.” 

   “What’re you going to do now, then?” Newt asks. 

   “Jesus fucking Christ, Newt, what do you want me to do? You, in your infinite wisdom?” Thomas asks, so frustrated he’s close to tears. 

   “I can’t answer that for you, but I wasn’t a mistake, and you know it,” Newt says. He’s so damned insistent.  

   “If you know so much, can you tell me why you’re the  _ only _ person I’ve slept with? Why I haven’t looked for other people that aren’t Teresa or you?” Thomas asks. 

   Newt pauses, his lips parted. “I-I don’t know.” 

   “I thought as much,” Thomas says. 

   “Goddammit, Thomas,” Newt says. He sounds like he wants to say more, but instead, he stands. 

   “Newt, where are you—”

   “You don’t care, do you?” Newt asks. Thomas shuts his mouth. “Do whatever you want. Sorry for being your mistake.” 

   “Newt,” Thomas says. He doesn’t want to leave off like this. 

   Instead of obliging, Newt puts his signature smile on like it’s a mask. He raises his eyebrows at Thomas, then looks him over. “I’d clean yourself before your girlfriend wakes up. Bye, Thomas.”

   Just like that, he’s gone, leaving Thomas cold and alone on his couch with the weight of his actions heavy in his head. 


	6. better off

_ What do I do? _ He has a few options. One is to act like it never happened, then try to really move on with Teresa. Another is to tell Teresa about last night and attempt to explain himself. He could also call Newt, and try to rationally discuss things. Then, there’s option four, which is to move to a different country and change his name. Thomas is leaning towards that one.

   He never gets back into bed after Newt leaves, because he doesn’t deserve to sleep next to Teresa right now. Not after what he pulled. 

   It’s not like he wasn’t conscious of what was happening. No, Thomas knew exactly what he was doing, and if he said he didn’t want it, he’d be a liar. Something about Newt just makes him want to come back for more. More of him. More of that blissful feeling that comes with him.

   But why is it just Newt? Maybe it’s just because he’s there. Thomas knows him, and he’s comfortable with him. How does he manage to make Thomas feel so good? 

   Then again, none of that matters. Because Newt doesn’t do the relationship thing, and all he would ever be is just a hookup, so why is Thomas even thinking about it? Really, it was unfair of Newt to come back there and mess up Thomas’ head again. He sleeps around. That’s who he is. So he should just leave Thomas alone. 

   Thomas isn’t like that. Well, he doesn’t want to be. To him, that sounds lonely. If Newt is happy with his life, that’s good for him. But he did bring up a good point. Is Thomas happy with  _ his? _

   It’s six in the morning, so Teresa should be getting up any minute now. Thomas hasn’t actually gone to sleep since Newt left, his mind not leaving him alone. He’s got a decision to make, and he needs to make it now.

   So, what does he do? When it comes to Teresa, there are really two options. Tell her and break up for good. Or move on and leave Newt entirely in the past like it never happened. 

   Really, he doesn’t deserve the ground Teresa walks on at this point. But why throw away their relationship if he doesn’t want anyone else, and Newt is completely unattainable? 

   “Tom?” Thomas jolts up, watching Teresa in the doorway. She’s in his shirt. The sight makes him sick, knowing what he did. “Why are you out here?”

   “I-I woke up early. Didn’t want to disturb you,” Thomas lies. She nods. 

   “How are you feeling?” she asks. 

_ Worse than ever. _ “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Thomas says. 

   “Are you sure?” Teresa asks. 

_ Not at all. _ “Positive.” 

   She nods, then goes into the bathroom, Thomas sighing in her wake. He loves her. She’s the kinda girl he should marry, right? Smart, similar morals, beautiful, sweet. Newt is loud, all sharp edges with a fire to him that Thomas can’t compete with. No, things are just simple with Teresa. Simple is nice. 

   When she leaves the bathroom, she hovers by the couch where Thomas is sitting. Thomas’ face becomes flushed of its color. What if she can  _ sense _ something happened? God, is there a trace of evidence? Thomas looks down and doesn’t see anything. 

   “Listen, Tom,” Teresa starts.  _ She knows. _ “About us trying again. Can we take it slow? Kinda just ease into it?”

   Thomas hesitates.  _ This is your chance. Take it. _ “Yeah, absolutely,” he says. 

   She gives him a small smile and his chest aches. “Thanks. I just think that’d be best. Do you have work today?” 

   “I think I do,” Thomas says. He doesn’t even slightly want to go. 

   “Alright, well… do you want to hang out tomorrow?” Teresa asks.  _ Hang out? _

   “That sounds good,” Thomas says. Maybe if they have a great time, they can truly put everything behind them. 

   “Okay. I have to go, but I’m glad I came,” Teresa says.  _ I’m a monster.  _

   “So am I,” Thomas says. He’s not sure if it’s a lie or not. 

   “See you tomorrow,” Teresa says. It’s awkward, but hopefully, it won’t be forever. 

   “See you,” Thomas says. 

   He passes out moments after she leaves. 

  
  
  
  


Remember that decision Thomas had to make? Well, it’s been a week, and he hasn’t quite made it yet. 

   He’s hung out with Teresa several times. They’ve held hands and kissed, and every time, he’s left uneasy. It’s only a reminder of what he’s done, and every second with her is a second he’s lying. 

   The good news is that he’s starting to think about Newt less. He’s putting more effort into Teresa. Texting her when he’s lonely, driving to her place, etc. because he’s her boyfriend, after all.

   He’s just gotten back from Teresa’s apartment when he gets a call. For a moment, he actually thinks it’s her telling him he’s forgotten something at her place. But when he looks at the caller ID, his heart leaps into his throat. 

_ Don’t answer it. Decline the call. _ Everything in Thomas resists. Because this is a horrible idea. A monstrous, ugly thing to do. He hates himself for even looking at the name. 

   But, for some reason unknown to him, he feels that pull. He slides to answer the call. 

   “Hello?” Thomas asks, already wincing. 

   “Tommy? Thomas? You’re there?” 

   Thomas’ face falls. “Are you okay?”

   “Where are you right now?” 

   “I’m at home–are you drunk?”

   “I don’t think so,” Newt says. He pauses. “Maybe.”

   “Where are you?” Thomas asks. He doesn’t sound okay. Not at all.

   “The club,” Newt says. 

   Thomas pinches the bride of his nose. “Just… stay there.” 

   “Are you coming?” Newt asks. He sniffles. Is he crying? 

   “I guess we’ll find out in a few minutes, won’t we,” Thomas says, squeezing his eyes shut. 

   “Thank you,” Newt says, his voice breaking. Thomas’ heart hurts. 

   “Don’t mention it,” Thomas says. He means it. “Stay put, okay?”

   “Alright,” Newt says. 

   Thomas hangs up the phone, then walks over to his couch, grabbing a pillow and smacking it into his face. It doesn’t help. 

  
  
  
  


He debated telling Teresa he’s going to Newt’s, just because maybe it’d keep him honest. But it’s nearly midnight, and he doesn’t want to disturb her. Besides, he doesn’t plan on being here long.

   Thomas walks into the godforsaken club, and it’s jam-packed. He immediately goes for the side door and introduces himself as Tommy. They let him in, and he walks back. 

   When he arrives at the lounge, half of him expects to see Newt all over some guy already, but he doesn’t find any such thing. In fact, there aren’t many people there at all. Thomas frowns at that but doesn’t stop to look long.

   He gets to the door that leads to the small apartment, and the guy standing in front of it just frowns at him. “Newt asked me to come. I’m Thomas—Tommy.” 

   The guard eyes him, then opens the door. “Your funeral,” he mumbles.  _ What happened? _

   Thomas starts up the stairs, and when he gets to the top, hesitantly knocks on the door. He’s trying not to think too hard about anything he’s doing because then he’ll get so worked up that he won’t be able to trust his actions. But at the same time, he has no clue what he’s walking into. 

   It takes a few moments, but the door opens. Newt’s shirtless, wearing only sweatpants that ride low on his hips. Thomas’ eyes don’t linger there, though. They come up straight to Newt’s face. Puffy eyes, red nose, and messed up hair. 

   “Tommy,” Newt says, looking him over. Thomas has never seen him look like this. Like every wall has been broken. 

   Thomas walks into the room without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him while Newt’s arm falls limp by his side. 

   “What happened?” Thomas asks. 

   “Can we sit down? Because, quite frankly, if I stand for one more second, I’ll either throw up or pass out. Or both,” Newt says, rubbing his eye. His words are completely slurred, so it takes Thomas a moment to understand them. 

   “Sit, and I’ll get you water,” Thomas says. 

   Newt doesn’t even answer, simply just walking to the couch and heavily falling onto it. Thomas can smell the alcohol on him, and even the thought of how he must be feeling is enough to make Thomas queasy himself.

   Thomas fills up a cup with water from the little makeshift kitchen, then opens the fridge to see if he’s got anything that might ease his stomach. But apparently, this place isn’t well stocked. He doesn’t even find bread. 

   So he settles for the water, hesitantly making his way to the couch. Newt’s eyes are closed, and for a moment Thomas thinks he’s fallen asleep, but he suddenly looks up at him. 

   He hands him the drink, then sits on the other side of the couch, putting the maximum amount of distance between them. It’s freezing in here, but Newt looks warm somehow, despite his lack of clothing. His hair is matted to his forehead, and he takes a small sip of the cold water. 

   When he pulls it away from his mouth, he looks at Thomas. “Do you know how many guys I’ve slept with since I met you?” 

   Thomas is shocked by the question. “Why the hell would I want to know that?” 

   “Four. I’ve slept with four guys that aren’t you,” Newt says, looking him dead in the eye. Thomas can’t read his tone.

   “That’s nice, I guess,” Thomas says. Why does the information sting? 

   “The first was the day before I came ‘round your place for the first time,” Newt continues on as if Thomas hadn’t spoken. “The next three were this past week.”

   “Oh,” Thomas says. “Why are you telling—”

   “I don’t understand,” Newt says. He shakes his head, then stops, covering his eyes like it hurt to do. 

   “Don’t understand what?” Thomas asks. “Look, maybe you just got a little too drunk, and you need to sleep it off.” 

_ “No, _ Thomas,” Newt says, frustrated. “If anything, I’m not drunk enough for this.” 

   “Newt, you gotta start making sense,” Thomas says, his body scooting closer to Newts against his will. 

   “Fucking hell, it  _ doesn’t _ make sense, even to me. That’s why I called,” Newt says, waving his hand as if that’ll explain. 

   “Just… start at the beginning then,” Thomas says, leaning back onto the couch. 

   Newt takes another sip of water, then a deep breath. “That first guy. That was fine. Normal. Found him in the club, hooked up, then he left, and I don’t even remember his name at this point.” 

_ Ouch. _ “Alright,” Thomas says. 

   “Then, the next day, you called me. I didn’t expect you to  _ actually _ use my number,” Newt says. 

   “But you gave it to me,” Thomas says. 

   “I don’t know why I did that either,” Newt says, looking down at the water.

   “Is this supposed to accomplish something other than hurting my feelings?” 

   “You called, and I came over. I figured it’d be fine since the club wasn’t opening for a while and you’re a good shag,” Newt says, his last words all jumbled together.

   “I’m a  _ what?” _ Thomas asks.

   “But then I stayed over. And then the next time, I stayed over again. Then the third time, I stayed over, and we cuddled like a bloody married couple,” Newt says, following another sniffle. “And all those days in between, at the club, I never actually wanted to be with any of the guys there.” 

   Thomas thinks about this for a minute. “Go on,” he eventually says.

   “Then, that night when you came here, I was just dancing with this guy. And when you saw, my first reaction was to be a defensive prick, because that’s who I am,” Newt says. “After you left, I came up here. Didn’t even say bye to the guy.” 

   “Why?” Thomas asks. 

   “I couldn’t stop thinking about your face. That  _ look.  _ All day, I played it over and over in my head, and I can’t ever stop fucking thinking,” Newt says. Thomas can definitely relate to that. 

   “So you came over,” Thomas says. 

   Newt nods. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say, actually. But then you started asking me all those questions, and you told me about Teresa, and… I don’t—I don’t know.” 

   “You asked me if I was happy,” Thomas says. “Why?”

   “Because I knew you weren’t,” Newt says. 

   Thomas doesn’t reply to that. “So what happened then?”

   “I left, and I was pissed. I don’t know  _ why,  _ but I was. At myself, probably. Usually, am,” Newt says.  _ Really? _ He never looks it. “But I tried to forget about it, y’know? Just go back to being normal.” 

   “And you slept with three guys,” Thomas says, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

   “One the night after. Another the night after that in the bathroom stall,” Newt says.

   “Classy.”

   “I didn’t care. About them, I mean,” Newt says.

   “Well that's normal, isn’t it? They’re just hookups,” Thomas says. 

   “Normally,” Newt says. Thomas frowns, but Newt’s not looking at him. “The third guy. I did my usual thing with him, took him up here. He was chatty. Annoyed the hell out of me.” 

   “Oh. Sorry,” Thomas says. This whole thing is making him feel sick. 

   “It was annoying me because I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Once he started asking questions, I called him a cab,” Newt says. “That was two days ago.” 

   “So what happened tonight?” Thomas asks. 

   “I started hitting on this guy. A little loud, but still hot.”

   “Is that relevant?”

   “Sorry. Point is, I brought him to the lounge room, he was getting handsy, I was handsy back. And then I just couldn’t stop thinking. He was kissing my neck, and I was thinking,” Newt says. 

   “About what?”

   “Your question,” Newt says. “I’ve always been happy. I like my life. And then when I was dancing with this guy, I wasn’t feeling that thing.” 

   “What thing?” 

   “I don’t know. But I felt whatever it is with—” Newt stops himself. “I walked away from him, and he followed me to the bar. I’d started drinking, so he drank too, and he kept getting louder and asking more things and putting his hands on me.” 

   “Newt…”

   “I shoved him away after a while because I’d had enough of it. Well, he didn’t like that. So I punched him in the nose, the security kicked him out, and I drank until my hand stopped hurting,” Newt says. Thomas looks down at his hand, and sure enough, it’s red. 

   “So you’re not happy?” Thomas asks.

   “I don’t know what I am, or what I’m doing, or why you’re here,” Newt says, taking a big sip of water before making a face at it. “I want more alcohol.”

   “Yeah, not gonna happen,” Thomas says.

   “What do you care?” 

   “I’m here, aren’t I?” Thomas says. 

   Newt is finally looking at Thomas again. “Did you tell Teresa what happened?”

   “No. I didn’t,” Thomas says, shamefully. 

   “Huh,” Newt says. “That’s… not like you, is it?”

   “What does that mean?”

   “It means that the day we met, you sounded like keeping something like this was the end of the world, and now you’re completely fine not telling her we fucked while she was in the other room,” Newt says. But it’s not in the accusatory way Thomas expects it to be.

   “You think I want to?” Thomas asks.

   “Why are you always mad at me, Tommy?” Newt asks. It’s so genuine and soft that it throws Thomas off guard. 

   “I-I’m not,” Thomas says. 

   “You get defensive quicker than I do,” Newt says, raising his eyebrows. “Are you always like that? With people that aren’t me, I mean.” 

   Thomas thinks about it. Maybe he is overly defensive. “No. I don’t think so.”

   “See, why is that? And why do I feel so fucking awful?” Newt asks. 

   “I don’t think you’re happy with your life, Newt,” Thomas says softly. 

   They’re silent for a few moments. Newt closes his eyes. Of all the things Thomas thought Newt might be calling with, this is not one of them.

   He couldn’t sleep with those guys because he was thinking. Thinking about Thomas.

   “I don’t think you’re happy with yours either,” Newt says. “And the reason you get so mad is that you know I’m right.” 

   “And so what if you were?” Thomas asks. “What difference does it make?” 

   “You shouldn’t be unhappy—and before you say it, I do care. And I don’t know why either,” Newt says. 

   “What does that mean, then?” Thomas asks. 

   “It means stop asking me questions I don’t have the answers to,” Newt says. 

   “No,” Thomas says. Newt gives him a look. “Because I think you  _ do _ have the answers. You just don’t want to admit them.” 

   “You know what’s fucked?” Newt asks with a humorless laugh. 

   “What?”

   “All I want to do right now is kiss you. And not just to shut you up,” Newt says. Thomas’ blood turns to ice. 

   “I’m with Teresa,” Thomas blurts out. “I messed up with her, now we’re together, and if you still don’t have any of the answers to my questions, then…”

   “Then what?” Newt asks.

   “I can’t do what we were doing. That doesn’t work for me, alright? Teresa is stable. You don’t even have the word relationship in your vocabulary,” Thomas says. Newt flinches at his last words, and Thomas automatically feels bad. “You know what I mean.”

   “You’re right,” Newt says, something in his eyes changing. “It’s not.” 

   “It doesn’t have to be like—”

   “But it does, Thomas. You like relationships. I loathe them,” Newt says. His voice is different, too. Hardened. 

   Thomas hates it. “Don’t do this, Newt.”

   “I’m not doing anything. You’re with Teresa, and I’ve got severe commitment issues, right? So that’s it, then.” Newt says, putting his water down. 

   “Let me take care of you, at least. You look awful, you—”

   Newt laughs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I called. Drunken mess, I am.”

   “Are you fucking kidding me? You just told me you’re unhappy, now this?” Thomas says.

   “Glad you could set me straight, then. I hope you and Teresa live a long and happy life together and have little scientist babies. Speaking of which, you should get back home to her now,” Newt says. 

   “You’re unbelievable,” Thomas says.

   “I trust you know your way out by now?” Newt says. 

   Thomas scoffs. “What do you want from me? What did you want me to say?” 

   “Right now? A pleasant goodbye would be appreciated,” Newt says. 

   Thomas stands up. “You know, Newt, you’re a lot easier to read than you think you are. This whole tough guy act might help you avoid getting hurt, but it’s no way to live. When you grow up enough to see that, give me a call. But until you’re ready, don’t bother.” 

   Newt looks at him with an expression mixed with illness and anger, but Thomas knows he got his message across. He doesn’t wait for Newt to respond before leaving—although he doesn’t think Newt had anything to say to that anyway. 

   He slams the door on his way out. Why did Newt call him over if all he wanted to do is shove down all of his feelings again? And what feelings  _ are _ they? 

   If he feels something for Thomas, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s with Teresa, and Newt doesn’t do relationships. Even if he does want that, he’s too stubborn to admit it. So Thomas won’t wait. He won’t ruin his relationship over this again. 

   This conversation never happened. That night on the couch never happened. Newt never happened. 


	7. break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored

Thomas lies awake with his hands on his bare stomach, looking up at his ceiling. He and Teresa were…  _ intimate _ for the first time since getting back together tonight. She lays sleeping beside him, breathing softly. 

   It’s now been five or so days since he saw Newt, and he’s been fighting thoughts about it since. Tonight, when Teresa started pushing herself onto him, Thomas almost wanted to stop her. Tell her to wait a little longer. But really, what’s the difference? It’s not anything they haven’t done before. 

   And it wasn’t unlike those times, either. It was exactly how Thomas remembered it. But that’s what’s keeping him up. 

   Newt’s words come back to him.  _ I didn’t feel that thing. _ If they’re talking about the same thing, Thomas thinks he gets it now. 

   He’s always told that passion dies out. It’s inevitable when couples have been together long enough. But when he thinks back in his memory, when  _ did _ he feel that thing for Teresa? 

   When she touches or kisses Thomas, what does he feel? It feels like her, and it’s nice.  _ But it’s not Newt. _

   Of course, relationships aren’t all about sex. It’s much more than that. It’s how you get along. But when he was with Teresa, he kept getting flashes. Newt’s hands tracing down his body, Newt’s lips on his neck, Newt’s gruff voice. Even things like just sitting on the couch with him or catching him looking at Thomas. 

   Thomas shuts his eyes tight. Newt couldn’t sleep with those guys. Was it because he felt that same thing with Thomas, but nobody else? 

_ We’re both unattainable, _ Thomas reminds himself. Thomas is taken. Newt’s never even been on the table. So why is this  _ thing _ bothering him so much? Or Newt, for that matter?

   For all Thomas knows, Newt has already moved on completely. Back to partying and sleeping around. Maybe he  _ is _ happy like that. Maybe they just made each other doubt themselves. They are opposites, after all. 

   And how long will it be before this is no longer all that plagues Thomas’ thoughts? 

  
  
  
  


Teresa has to leave at noon that day, but the two of them spend the morning together. Thomas has counted five times now that she’s asked if he’s alright, saying he seems spacey. Thomas brushes it off, saying he’s still tired. 

   It’s not a lie, considering he didn’t get to sleep until five in the morning, and he woke up at nine. And even then, when he got up, his mind turned on and is still churning the thoughts out like unwanted butter. 

   Teresa emerges from the bathroom, completely ready for work and once again looking a lot better than the mess Thomas is. 

   “You know, you should get rid of that vodka,” Teresa says, frowning at it on the counter. “You never feel good after you drink.”

   “You’re probably right,” Thomas says. He’ll admit, he did drink a bit last night. Maybe that’s why being with Teresa had him all out of whack? 

   “Are you going to work today?” Teresa asks.

   “Probably,” Thomas says. He never really knows when he’ll feel like going in lately. 

   “Tom, you need money. You have to go,” Teresa says, in that reprimanding way Thomas is so used to hearing. 

   “Mmhm,” Thomas says, rubbing his eyes. 

   “You have to get serious about—”

   She’s cut off by knocking at the door. Thomas furrows his brows at it, but when Teresa walks over, he reaches out a hand to stop her.

   “I’ll get it,” Thomas says quickly. It successfully stops her, so Thomas takes the opportunity to speed walk over to the door.

   When he opens it, his heart stops. 

   “To—oh, hey there, Teresa. Pleasure seeing you, lovely top you’ve got on, is it new? It’s been great catching up—Thomas, can we talk? Alone?” 

   Newt looks a lot better than the last time Thomas saw him. His hair is slightly damp like he just took a shower, but styled nonetheless, he’s practically glowing somehow, his outfit is his usual level of fashionable—and, unmistakably, he’s in Thomas’ shirt—and he smells really good. But more importantly, all of that sadness and doubt from the other day is gone. 

   “Who are you?” Teresa asks.  _ Oh yeah. _ They never actually met.

   Newt opens his mouth, but Thomas cuts him off. “Nobody. Well, nobody you should be concerned about,” he says, before turning back to Newt. “Why are you here?”

   “I  _ said _ I’d like to talk,” Newt says. “Or should I say everything right now?” 

   Thomas has to avert his gaze because with the look Newt is giving him right now, he doesn’t trust himself not to say or do something stupid. “About work, right?” 

   “Absolutely,” Newt says, nodding. Then, he looks at Teresa. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Tommy’s not getting fired.” 

_ Tell him to get lost, you absolute buffoon! You just got Teresa back, and you know Newt makes you make bad decisions! _

   “Resa, I’m sorry, I should talk to him,” Thomas says, turning to her. She’s wary. He can tell. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 

   “Alright,” she says, eyeing Newt. She walks over to the couch to grab her bag, and Newt thrums his fingers against the doorframe as if trying to speed her up. When she gets to where the two are standing, she kisses Thomas on the cheek. He fights not to wince at it. “Later then, Tom?”

   “Later,” Thomas says, giving her a weak smile. Her eyes are uncertain. 

   Newt steps out of the way to let her through, giving her a grin that she absolutely does not return. But Thomas doesn’t blame her. 

   Once she’s gone, Newt shows himself in, closing the door behind him.

   “What is this about now, Newt?” Thomas asks. 

   “Feisty,” Newt says. “One of the things I like about you.” 

   “What?” Thomas asks. Newt smirks. “Stop that.”

   “Stop what?” Newt asks. 

   “That look,” Thomas says. Newt’s got that look in his eyes that he always gets when… well, Thomas does dumb things when he gets that look.

   “Warm goodbye you gave your girlfriend there,” Newt says, instead of actually following Thomas’ instructions. 

   “What do you expect after showing up while she’s here?” Thomas asks. 

   “Partially? A face full of door. But I think we both know you better than that by now,” Newt says. Then, he’s walking behind Thomas. Before he can turn to face him, there’s a hand on his shoulder keeping him in place. 

   “What’re you doing?” Thomas asks. 

   “Seeing if you’d let me in was test one. You failed, obviously.” 

   “What test?”

   “The test to see if you’re as content as you say you are. It’s like the drunk test, but more fun,” Newt says. His hand slowly slides up to Thomas’ neck, and he hardens his jaw. “So, Tommy. Think you can pass? As smart as you are.” 

   “I do,” Thomas says. Newt’s hand stops in its tracks, and Thomas’ breath hitches. “What happened to calling me when you grew up?” 

   “Fewer questions from your end, alright? That’s what always screws me over,” Newt says. Thomas goes to ask what he means but shuts up. “Good.” 

   Next thing Thomas knows, Newt’s hands are on his waist, slowly making their way to his stomach. He stands still, squeezing his eyes shut. 

   “How’re you feeling?” Newt asks lowly, surprising Thomas by putting his lips next to his ear. 

   “Fine,” Thomas says through gritted teeth. 

   Newt chuckles, then brushes his nose against Thomas’ jaw. “Look at me, then.” 

   “No,” Thomas answers immediately. 

   “Why?” Newt asks. He presses his lips to the first spot of bare skin above Thomas’ collar. 

   “Because,” Thomas says. He doesn’t have a reason to follow it up. 

   “If you’re so confident, you should be able to at least look at me,” Newt says, one of his hands sliding lower. Thomas feels it in the pit of his stomach. “What’re you afraid of?” 

   “Doing something stupid,” Thomas says, before mentally slapping himself for it.

   “I’m something stupid?” Newt asks teasingly, before kissing a spot on his jaw. “Why’s it  _ stupid, _ then?” 

   “I have a girlfriend,” Thomas says. That one’s easy at least. Newt hums, before licking a stripe up Thomas’ neck, making Thomas shudder. “Fucking—”

   “Tell me something. Does it feel like this? With her?” Newt asks, his breath warm against Thomas. One of his hands travels up to Thomas’ chest, and his heart races even worse than it already was. 

   “It’s—I love her. That’s how it feels,” Thomas says.

   “Do you? Or have you just stuck around so long that you feel like you have to?” Newt asks. “You’re lying to her every day, and you don’t always want more of her.” 

   Thomas is about to ask what he’s talking about, but he remembers. That speech Thomas gave about loving someone the second time they hooked up. Newt actually listened? 

   “I was talking  _ about _ her,” Thomas says. 

   “Yet who did you run to? Who’s the person you want more of now?” Newt asks. Thomas tenses up. “Look at me, Tommy.” 

   Thomas turns around, and Newt’s doing that thing he always does. Searching Thomas’ face. “Why do you always do that?” 

   “Do what?” 

   “You always watch me like you’re looking for something,” Thomas says, his voice hushed despite being alone with him. 

   “I’m good at reading people,” Newt says. “But there’s something different about you.” 

   “What?” Thomas asks.

   “I can see when people are interested from a mile away. But when you look at me, there’s something extra that I don’t see in anyone else,” Newt says. “Nobody ever asked me about myself. Nobody ever called me over and asked me to stay. Nobody ever argued with me because nobody cared enough to even know my name.”

   “I thought you didn’t like chatty people.” 

   “I didn’t. I don’t. But once again…”

   “I’m different?” Thomas asks. Newt nods, and Thomas can feel it. That charge between them that  _ never _ goes away. 

   Newt takes a half step closer. “You’re different,” he says. He brings his hand up and runs it through Thomas’ hair, and Thomas follows the movement with his head without thinking about it. Newt’s smile reappears, and his hand comes down to Thomas’ face. “But we’re not talking about me right now.” 

   “What’s the test, Newt?” Thomas asks, trying not to lean into his touch. 

   Newt comes so close to Thomas that their lips almost brush together. Thomas closes his eyes, and Newt’s hand comes down to his heart again. It’s pounding so hard in his chest, he can hear it. Then, Newt takes Thomas’ hand and brings it up to his own chest. Newt’s heart is pounding as well. 

   “Tell me I’m wrong,” Newt says, leaning their foreheads together. 

   The air is now completely sucked out of Thomas. His chest is warm against his fingers, and Newt’s hand is on top of his own, and Thomas isn’t pulling away. He could easily step back. Stop Newt from taking this any further. 

   Thomas doesn’t speak. 

   “Come on, Thomas. Stop me,” Newt says. 

   Thomas doesn’t speak.

   “You want this,” Newt says. Not as a question. His lips brush against the corner of Thomas’ mouth now.

   Thomas can’t take this anymore. He grips the front of Newt’s shirt, and he expects Newt to smile, but he doesn’t. He only leans into it as Thomas kisses him, letting Thomas guide the whole thing. 

   That  _ thing _ that Newt was talking about? Thomas feels it spread through him, taking over his brain and all of his senses. Newt’s hands slide to Thomas’ lower back, and he tilts his head to let Thomas deepen the kiss. He’s never felt this before, and that’s what scares him enough to pull back. 

   “I can’t do this,” Thomas says. 

   “Why not?” Newt asks, keeping him close. 

   “Because you don’t know what you want, Newt. I’m not going to throw away my relationship when you don’t even—”

   “I do know what I want,” Newt says. Thomas only looks at him, and Newt goes to kiss him again, but Thomas doesn’t let him, so he pulls his head back again. He doesn’t want to say it.

   “Tell me,” Thomas says. He has to hear it from him. 

   “I want  _ you, _ Tommy,” Newt says. “Only you.” 

   Thomas takes a deep breath. “What does that mean, then?”

   “What do you want it to mean?” Newt asks. 

   When Thomas speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “I have a girlfriend.” 

   “Break up with her,” Newt says quickly like the words have been on the tip of his tongue the whole time. 

   “You don’t even know what this is yet,” Thomas says. Yet he stays in Newt’s embrace. 

   “I’m bored with my life, Thomas. I’m not happy jumping between people; I’m not happy never having a proper conversation, I’m not happy drinking and clubbing all the time. But I think you’re bored too,” Newt says. 

   “So I should dump Teresa so we can… what? Keep doing what we’re doing?” Thomas asks. But he wants to give in. He wants Newt, but how?

   “Can I ask  _ you _ some questions for a change?” Newt asks. Thomas nods. “What does it mean when I don’t want anyone but you? When all I find myself doing is thinking about you or missing you? When I stop wanting to do what I usually do, and your boring, cozy life looks good to me because  _ you’re _ in it?” 

   Thomas is rendered speechless. Does Newt realize what he’s describing? One look at his expression tells Thomas that he does. 

   “You want something more.”

   Newt nods. “And I never want to see you look like that again. That night in the club—I’ve never hated myself more, Tommy. I don’t want to lie to you or forget about you. As terrified as I am, I care about you. And I want more for you. More  _ of _ you.” 

   “You do?” Thomas asks. Newt smiles—presumably because of the hope in Thomas’ tone. 

   “Do  _ you?” _ Newt asks. 

   Decision time. This is it, right here right now. Newt is a risk. He could change his mind tomorrow, and Thomas will be alone again. But at the same time, is that any reason to stay with Teresa? In his heart, he knows who he wants. There’s no logic to explain it, but does there really have to be? 

   “I do,” Thomas says. Newt’s expression turns softer than anything Thomas has ever seen on him before, and it fills Thomas’ heart. “You’re right. About everything.”

   “Well, so are you. Quite frankly, it’s annoying,” Newt says. 

   Thomas bites back a laugh. “Right back at you.”

   “Break up with Teresa,” Newt says. His joking smile turns into a pleading look in an instant. “I know it’s ridiculous, considering what I did, but the sight of her…”

   “I know what you mean,” Thomas says. Seeing Newt with that guy made him ill. It  _ hurt. _ More than he wanted to admit. 

   “Please,” Newt says. When he kisses Thomas, he doesn’t stop him, taking in every little movement he makes. Newt’s hands softly move to Thomas’ hips as he takes control again, always trying to deepen the kiss, planting Thomas firmly to his spot yet simultaneously making his knees weak. When Newt pulls back, it takes him a moment to switch his gaze from Thomas’ lips to his eyes. “I’m yours if you want me.” 

   “You already know I want you,” Thomas says. Newt is scared—Thomas can tell. He doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t do relationships. But Thomas really  _ is _ the exception. Newt doesn’t fit into his chaotic lifestyle anymore, and Thomas doesn’t quite fit into his tame one anymore either. Maybe they’re not such opposites after all. “I’ll do it.”

   Newt’s eyes light up, and his grip on Thomas eases up like he’d been afraid to let him go before. But Thomas was never going anywhere. “Good. Can you do it now, then? Because I’m practicing dangerous levels of self-control, here.”

_ “This _ is you practicing self-control?” Thomas asks, laughing out of giddiness. He feels like a teenager.  _ Better, _ actually. As awful as he feels about hurting Teresa again, this is better for her. He doesn’t deserve her, and she should be with someone who makes her happy. She should find the thing Thomas feels with Newt, whether that be with Brenda, or whoever else. 

   “Yes, and it’s exhausting. So hurry it up,” Newt says. “I can even call for you.”

   “Not happening,” Thomas says. “God, how am I supposed to word this? I know I have to, but hurting her is hard.”

   “Harder than you right now?” Newt asks, his smirk making an appearance. Thomas goes to jump back, his face flushing in embarrassment, but Newt laughs, pulling him back in. “If you care about her, you know that this is the right thing.”

   “I know,” Thomas says. “I’ll call her and tell her we have to talk.” 

   “Then I’ll stay until you talk,” Newt says.

   “That might not be until later, and you’ve got the club—”

   “No, actually. I don’t,” Newt says. Thomas frowns. “Minho is back. I haven’t been there since the last time I saw you. So, no. No club.”

   Thomas finds himself grinning at that. “And you’re alright staying here and  _ not _ having sex all day?”

   “We never got to continue Friends,” Newt says, shrugging. “I haven’t been in a relationship for a while, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you usually talk a bit?”

   “Relationship, huh?” Thomas asks. Newt’s face falls slightly, and Thomas laughs. “That is how they work, yes.”

   “Listen, Tommy,” Newt says, bringing his hand up to rest on the side of Thomas’ face. “I fuck things up a lot. So if I’m not perfect, just tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I’ll try, okay?”

   He’s completely genuine. It almost breaks Thomas’ heart to hear Newt sound so vulnerable. “Lucky for you, I fuck things up a lot too. We’ll figure it out, alright?” Thomas says. 

   “It’s not so scary when you put it like that,” Newt says. He steps back a little. “Alright, not-yet-boyfriend. Let’s go be completely platonic until you finally drop the chick.”

   “You’ve really got a way with words,” Thomas says. 

   “Mmhm. I’m Mr. Romance,” Newt says, then winks. “And if you’re upset after talking later, I’ll be here to make all that disappear.” 

   “You do realize you’re not just a distraction, right?” Thomas asks. “And you weren’t a mistake, either.”

   “And you weren’t just a random hookup, so I guess we’re even,” Newt says. “Oh, I forgot, I have to ask you something.”

   “Yeah?” Thomas asks. 

   “Minho—who you’ll, unfortunately, have to meet—told me I need to know your last name. Apparently, that’s important,” Newt says.

   “Murphy,” Thomas says, bewildered that they haven’t told each other their last names yet. That’s how hookups work, he guesses. But that’s no longer the case here. 

   “Ross,” Newt says. “Glad we got that sorted. Now come teach me how to cuddle without panicking and giving you a handjob.” 

_ “That’s _ why you did that?” Thomas laughs, letting Newt pull him over to the couch. 

   “You didn’t seem to mind,” Newt says. 

   Thomas sits on the couch, then tugs Newt down to lean into him. “Relax,” he says. Newt obliges. Then, Thomas presses his back against the armrest, letting Newt completely lie against him. “Like this, see?”

   “I get it,” Newt says. He looks up and places a kiss on Thomas’ neck, but leaves it at that. “That’s kinda nice.”

   “You taught me how to dance, I can teach you how to do this,” Thomas says, shrugging. He grabs the remote off of the seat. “Friends?”

   “Go ahead. I absolutely will not be thinking about flipping you onto your stomach,” Newt says, giving him an innocent smile. 

   Thomas rolls his eyes, but his hostility is completely gone. The only reason it was even there was that he didn’t want Newt to be right. But now, he knows better. 

   They’re both scared. Thomas has never broken free from his comfort zone with Teresa before—oh boy, he really has to call her—and Newt hardly even knows what being a boyfriend  _ is. _ But as Newt snuggles closer to Thomas, laughing along with him to his favorite show, he believes what he said. 

   They’ll figure it out. 


End file.
